A Simple Complicatio n
by Sally Bahnsen
Summary: Mulder suffers what he believes is a minor injury during stakeout duty. Ignoring it, he convinces Scully to accompany him to New Jersey to investigate what he hopes is an X file. Mulder realises too late that his minor injury may not be as trivial as he first thought.


A Simple Complication

Author: Sally Bahnsen

Date: April 2001

Spoilers: This is one big spoiler for Jersey Devil. A small mention of

Biogenesis.

Disclaimer- Mulder and Scully and all other recognisable characters

belong to CC and 1013. I don't own them and I don't want to, I could

never afford to maintain them. When I'm finished playing, I promise to

hand them back.

Summary- Mulder suffers what he believes is a minor injury during

stakeout duty. Ignoring it, he convinces Scully to accompany him to

New Jersey to investigate what he hopes is an X file. Mulder realises

too late that his minor injury may not be as trivial as he first

thought.

A Simple Complication 1/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Friday, June 2, 2000

11am

One of my English professors once lectured me about boredom. "You know,

Mr Mulder," he said, "a man's life can be wasted in many different ways,

but none is quite as debilitating as in the form of boredom. 'Risk is

what separates the good part of life from the tedium.,'" he quoted at

me. "A very useful phrase, Mr Mulder. Remember it. Live by it. Don't

allow others to prevent you from achieving your full potential simply

because they refuse to take a risk. Boredom wilts the soul, Mr Mulder.

Mark my words."

Of course, at the time I had no idea what he was talking about. Life at

Oxford was full and satisfying. I studied hard, I played hard. The

world was my oyster. Perhaps my English professor was psychic. Perhaps

he saw something in me that I hadn't recognised in myself. When I

joined the FBI my life continued on in much the same vein. I didn't

know what boredom meant. Until I took the wrong turn somewhere along

the road to success and managed to piss off my superiors. It was then I

discovered in the worst possible way exactly what my professor meant. I

hate him for it. I don't blame him, but somehow I feel he cursed me

that day. His words come back to haunt me whenever I find myself in any

situation that forces me into a state of inactivity for any length of

time.

Today is no different. I pray for something - *anything* - that will

relieve me from the boredom that is currently not only wilting my soul,

but shrivelling it up into something completely dry and lifeless...

Pick up laundry. Return books to the library. Buy fish food. Invite

the guys over to watch reruns of Deep Space Nine. Now that has

potential.

I run a mental checklist through my mind, ticking off what I need to do

after work, then stretch back in the driver's seat and clasp my hand

over my mouth, trying to hold back a yawn.

I check my watch for the twenty-ninth time and sigh in weary

frustration. Okay, so maybe this is my fault. I don't mind taking the

rap for the unfortunate situation that Scully and I are currently

enduring. But, sheesh, Skinner really could have cut me a little slack

here. It was all a misunderstanding. A glitch, a hiccup, a lapse in

memory. Call it what you will.

Hell, maybe I was drugged.

I could have sworn I'd filled out that 302. I had every intention of

signing my hot little monogram on the dotted line. I guess I just

forgot.

So, one ass reaming, and three hours later, Scully and I are still

sitting in the car staring plaintively at the rearview mirror in the

hope of getting some action soon. No one is even sure if this is the

right guy. They *think* he's involved in some sort of stolen car

racket, moving them across state lines and into the hands of the big

time criminals.

Another yawn escapes, and this time I don't bother to hide it. Yep.

There have got to be better, more productive things I could be doing

with my time.

There hasn't been a peep out of this guy. The house is so quiet I'm

beginning to wonder if there's even anybody inside and this isn't just

some spiteful ploy by Skinner to get me out of his hair- figuratively

speaking of course-for a few hours.

Bastard.

It's been two long weeks since anything even remotely resembling an

X-File has come across my desk. Who can blame a guy for trying to find

something meaningful and worthwhile to fill his working hours?

Daily visits, sometimes twice or three times, to our Imperial boss's

office did not produce the required results. He had nothing for me.

Nothing except paper shuffling, report writing, and expense

reconciliations. Like three or four months worth. The only reaction I

got from Skinner were the 'placatory' tones of, "Well, Agent Mulder, why

don't you take advantage of this lull in activity and try getting that

backlog of paperwork completed and on my desk by Thursday morning."

Trust me, there was nothing friendly in the way he delivered the

message. I was left with no doubt in my mind that he was issuing an

order and there'd be hell to pay should I ignore it.

I didn't ignore it.

Not exactly. Not in the Websters Dictionary interpretation of the word

'ignore.' I just kind of got distracted. I found an X-File. Yeah,

okay, it was in the National Enquirer, but hell, surely some of the

stuff they print is true. Isn't it? Well, as Scully would say, I ran

off half-cocked, then wham, bam, thank you ma'am, the deadline for my

paperwork came, and went, and now here we are, tucked up nice and cosy

in a surveillance vehicle.

Did I mention that my partner is severely pissed at me? Not so much

from the point of view of being forced to do stakeout duty, although

that initially went down like a lead balloon-only serving to bolster

her already frayed mood. It's something else that I did. Once again

totally accidental.

I was down to my last handful of sunflower seeds. That was after the

first hour. We'd been talking. Actually, I was doing the talking,

Scully was in one of those less-than-communicative moods. I happened to

be biting down on a sun flower seed at precisely the wrong moment. As I

spoke, the husk shot from my mouth and landed in the air conditioning

vent. It was brilliant. It would never have happened in a million

years if I'd planned it. I turned to Scully expecting to see

admiration. What I saw was a look that didn't quite give the impression

that she'd stood in dog poop, although it was close. No, that look was

still coming.

Being pretty impressed with myself I told her to watch and I'd do it

again. I should have quit while I was ahead. I bit down on the husk

and prepared to blow it from my mouth. I miscalculated and it shot off

the side of my tongue and straight into Scully's hair. That's when I

got the 'new improved look,' the one that said she had not only stood in

the dog poop, but traipsed it all through her apartment as well.

I apologized profusely. I even promised to write all the reports for

the next two months as well as finish the surplus from the previous

three or four. She was unmoved. So, consequently, we have passed the

last two hours in stony, monosyllabic, silence.

"Mulder!" She pokes me in the ribs. Forgiveness?

"Look. Cantlon's heading this way," she whispers to me as if the

suspect is going to hear us through the layers of bullet-proof glass and

reinforced metal.

I sit up a little straighter in my seat, craning my neck to get a better

look in the mirror. Scully observes our man through the sideview.

"Dammit," she curses softly under her breath. "I think he's seen us."

Yep. The guy takes one look at the car, our car - the plain, black car

that screams, 'look at me, I'm spying on you,' parked four doors down

the street from where he is residing - does a double take, then a

runner, right back in the direction of his house.

"Hallelujah." I sigh under my breath. Action. I reach for the door,

throw it open and prepare to alight. That is until I feel something

tugging on the back of my jacket.

"Mulder! Where are you going?" She hisses at me.

Sometimes I wonder about Scully and her powers of deduction.

"He's getting away, Scully. I'm going to stop him." I jerk forward,

out of her grip.

"You can't. We need back up."

"You're right," I tell her reasonably. "Why don't you call it in."

Then I'm off. Feet thundering on the pavement, arms pumping, chest

heaving. Man, it feels good to be *doing* something.

I head off after Cantlon. He has a start on me but I'm about 6 inches

taller, ten years younger and around 20 or 30 pounds lighter. I don't

think he's going to be getting too far.

I reach the driveway and stop, getting my bearings and trying to catch

sight of him.

Nothing.

His house is suburban and ordinary. A single story structure wrapped in

white clapboard. A porch stretches across the front and winds around

the corner. The yard is neat, the grass clipped. Baskets of flowers

hang from the eaves above the wooden railing enclosing the porch. I see

nothing that offers a hiding place.

I cautiously make my way towards the side of the house. The driveway

continues along its length, stopping at a waist high steel gate,

separating the front yard from the back.

"Mulder!" Scully runs towards me, her coat flapping behind her like a

cape belonging to a cartoon superhero. The faint sound of sirens are

playing in the background. Back up. "Where is he?"

I open my mouth to answer but am interrupted by an earth shattering

scream. His wife? Girlfriend? A hostage? The sound of breaking glass

follows close behind the scream. Scully and I look at each other,

then, reading our respective expressions, take off in different

directions. She moves to the front door and I race off towards the back

yard, the gate no obstacle for me as I hurdle it and continue on my way.

I skid to a halt at the corner of the house, drag my weapon from its

holster, pull my arms close to my body and point the muzzle to the sky

in readiness to round the corner and take aim.

One, two, three. I count soundlessly in my head then step from my cover

and extend my arms straight out in front of me.

THWACK!

Shit. Pain ripples along my arms and the gun is sent flying through the

air, coming to rest some twenty feet from where I am standing. Damn

it! I wonder if I included loss and damage reports in my rash promise

to Scully?

Something whizzes past my ear. I glare at the man before me. The man,

mirroring my own defensive stance. Except for one thing. He has a

baseball bat, I am unarmed. I curse a long string of very inventive and

if I do say so myself, very creative expletives.

How the hell do I keep getting myself into these situations? For once,

just once in my life I would like to have an arrest go down by the

book. I know it's possible. I've seen Sipowitz do it on NYPD Blue.

Wait. Bad example. That guy is a complete nutcase, a censure waiting

to happen. Who's the blond guy? The one that replaced Simone? Now

he's got style. I'd like to get an arrest happening like him.

WHOOSH. I side step a double swing. One aimed at my stomach, the other

at my head. The action is a little too close for comfort. I eye my

weapon longingly, calculating the chances of diving on it and rolling

into a position to fire before I am used for batting practice.

I lick my lips, then make my move, lunging for my weapon.

There are certain things I do well, and certain things I really struggle

with. I run with the grace of a gazelle, I swim like a fish, my

profiling skills are renowned throughout the FBI. But when it comes to

fighting...well, lets just say things don't quite happen the way I

anticipate. Today is no exception.

As I leap towards the gun, my coat somehow entangles itself in my legs,

upsetting my finely-tuned timing and sending me sprawling to the ground,

laid out flat on my stomach. My right hand is stretched in front of me,

sliding along the dirt gathering tiny bits of gravel under the skin.

Dammit.

That, however, is the least of my worries. I turn onto my side just in

time to see Cantlon raise the bat above his head ready for the downward

swing. Instinct takes over and I roll to the left as the bat crashes to

the ground, throwing Cantlon off balance. I take advantage of the

situation and scramble to my feet, using the momentum to propel myself

forward, wrapping my arms around Cantlon's chest and allowing my weight

to carry us both to the ground.

My luck is still with me. My bad luck. I feel Cantlon grunt as our

bodies hit the ground, a gush of hot breath rushes past my ear and the

rancid smell of garlic fills my nostrils. But those are just peripheral

sensations. What really grabs my attention is the agonizing pain

shooting through my right thigh. Somehow, with the utmost precision

that only I am capable of achieving, the bat has become wedged between

our bodies, ramming itself with the full force of our weight right into

the fleshy part of my thigh, just above the knee.

Aaah! Fuuuushiiiieeet! I bite down hard on my lip to keep from crying

out. What I'd really like to be doing is hollering at the top of my

lungs, but a man has to maintain some sort of dignity. Underneath me

Cantlon continues to puff and grunt his foul breath inches from my

nose. But I don't move. I can't move. Not yet.

"Sir? Sir, are you all right?" Hands. Strong hands. On my

shoulders. Pulling. Lifting me. Rolling me on my back. This time I

lose the fight at heroic stoicism and let out a low growl from the back

of my throat as the movement sends a sharp, piercing pain through my

leg.

Who is this guy, and why is he touching me? What about Cantlon? He'll

get away!

"Agent Mulder?" Huh? He knows my name?

I open my eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" I demand. Okay, so my manners could use some

work, but too bad, my leg hurts and I don't feel like playing nice.

"Um...uh...Special Agent Keith Simmons. Agent Mulder? Your partner,

Agent Scully, she said you might need some help. Guess she was right."

He answers timidly.

I twist my head to get a better look at this guy. *He* is an FBI

agent? Are they grabbing them straight out of high school these days?

Suddenly I feel very old. And for some reason that really pisses me

off.

"Help me up." I stretch out my arm and grab Agent 'whats-his-name's'

hand. It's at about this time that I notice two uniformed cops

dragging Cantlon to his feet and escorting him to the front of the

house.

I stand up, balancing on one leg, waiting for the thudding ache to

subside.

"Sir, would you like me to get you some medical assistance?"

I test my leg, tentatively putting some weight on it. Yeah, I've had

this sensation before. Nothing too serious; my guess is it's just a

bruised muscle. Not the first time I've had one of those. I'll live.

"Sir, shall I..."

"No! No. I'm fine. Thanks." I give him a sheepish grin.

"I saw what happened, but you got in the line of fire before I could

wing him. You were lucky he missed your head."

Oh yeah. I'm lucky all right. This has been about the luckiest day in

my life. Maybe I'll go and buy a lottery ticket to celebrate!

I take a couple of limping steps. Yep, getting better all the time.

Perhaps I'll even be able to keep this whole incident from Scully.

Hmmm. I eye 'wonder boy' warily. He's staring at me with a mixture of

wide eyed fascination and puzzlement. I decide to put him at ease and

flash him a reassuring grin as I drape my arm conspiratorially around

his shoulder. I figure I need to have a little 'man-to-man' chat with

him about keeping his mouth shut.

"Um, Ken. Can I call you Ken?"

"Keith."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Keith, not Ken." Right. Not a good start.

"Sorry. Keith. I wonder if you'd do me a favor?"

"Sir?"

"Look, how about we keep this little fiasco just between ourselves. I'd

rather my partner didn't know about the uh...baseball bat thing. You

know what I mean?"

"No, sir." Damn. This isn't going to be as easy as I thought.

"It's just, well, you know how women get. They think you're injured,

they get all worried, start hovering, making silly, irrational demands

about going to the Emergency Room..." I pause, waiting for the words to

sink in.

Aah, there it is. Suddenly the light bulb clicks on and the kid smiles

knowingly. Progress!

"Sir, I think I know what you mean. My girlfriend, she's the same. If

I come home from work with so much as a paper cut she starts fussing and

carrying on."

Atta boy.

"So, mum's the word then," I say winking and holding my index finger

over my lips for added effect. I give him a couple of 'male-bonding'

claps on the back and head towards the front of the house to find

Scully.

"Sir! Agent Mulder, sir." I hear Ken's voice ringing out from behind

me. Now what?

"Your gun. You forgot your gun."

Dammit. I've really got to do a better job at looking after my weapon.

"Thanks, Ken. This really is my lucky day." I squeeze out through

gritted teeth.

"Keith."

Damn.

"Sorry."

One look at Scully and I feel my resolve shrivel. The minute I step

from the corner of the house I know she has me pegged.

"What the hell happened to you?" she asks, running her eyes over my body

from head to toe.

"Uh...nothing. Nothing at all. Ke...Keith and I were just finishing up

out back." I explain, pointing to the thankfully retreating form of

Agent Simmons.

"And?" She presses.

"And what?" I ask innocently.

"Mulder! You're filthy. Look at your clothes. *And* you are limping."

I am?

"Oh, that. I fell when I tackled Cantlon. It's no big deal." I shrug.

"You fell?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know, Mulder, there's falling and then there's falling.

Which did you do?"

What the...? She's gotta be kidding, right?

I stop walking and turn around to face her. I place my hands on her

shoulders and gaze seriously into her eyes, then, very quietly reply, "I

fell." With that, I turn on my heel and stride purposefully towards the

car.

"How did you fall? Did..."

"Jeezus, Scully!" I cut her off. "How does anyone one fall? I lost my

balance, gravity took over and I hit the ground."

"Hmmm. Lost your balance." She seems to consider this for awhile then

asks, "Were you dizzy?"

"No! I wasn't dizzy. I tripped. I fell. Plain and simple. Now, can

we drop it, please?"

This time when I resume my walk to the car I keep going. I'm sure I can

still hear her mumbling under her breath, but I am not hanging around to

continue the argument. My leg is aching, my hand is stinging and all I

want to do is get back to the office and forget this morning ever

happened.

End of part one

A Simple Complication Part 2

Basement Office

Friday 2:00 p.m.

I nudge the basement door open with my shoulder, struggling to maintain

the precarious hold I have on the various literary journals balanced in

my arms and the brown paper bag clenched in my teeth. I head over to

where Scully is working at her computer and release the parcel from my

mouth like a dog presenting it's master with a ball to play with.

"Where the hell have you been and what is *that*?" she whines at me.

"Lunch, Scully. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese,

pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun!" I sing at her.

She looks like she wants to vomit.

"Only kidding." I reassure her. "That was my lunch. Yours is:

lettuce, cucumber and sprouts, on low fat, gluten free, fibre enhanced

rye. No butter, margarine, mayo, mustard, salt, or anything else that

might resemble taste."

Her face lights up with pure delight.

I screw up my nose in disgust. "I don't know how you can eat that

stuff, Scully, let alone enjoy it!"

"Mulder, when you're lying in hospital recovering from triple bypass

surgery *then* you'll know how I can eat this." She replies, pulling

the sandwich from the brown paper bag.

"Save the lecture for someone who cares, Scully. Your scare tactics are

not gonna work on me." I say, holding my hand up to ward off any

further health care sermons she feels I need to hear.

"Mulder!"

What? Surely she can't be upset about that.

"What's the matter?" I ask, confused.

"Your hand. What happened?"

My hand?

Scully covers the space between us in four quick steps, snatches my hand

with her own and turns it over to inspect the palm. She seems oblivious

to the fact that she's just sent three or four fine literary journals

tumbling to the floor.

"My God, Mulder. You're an infection waiting to happen. Look at all

this dirt under your skin. Did this happen this morning, when you

fell?"

Ow, yeah. Come to think of it my hand is stinging. I guess in all the

excitement at finding something that really does qualify as an X File,

I'd forgotten about the gravel rash blazed across the palm of my hand.

"Why didn't you say something?" She glares at me angrily as if this is

some secret conspiracy I've attempted to hide from her. Close. The

real conspiracy is the constant throbbing in my thigh.

"I'm thirty-nine years old, I've endured gunshot wounds, exposure to

alien viruses, numerous concussions and you expect me to come running to

you over a grazed hand like some overgrown toddler?"

"Well, Mulder, if the shoe fits..." She smirks at me.

"Ha. Ha. You're a regular comedian. Now, give me my hand back. I've

got work to do."

She lets go then returns to her desk, ducking down behind it and

reaching for something that I can't quite see stashed at the back of her

chair.

She bobs up and plonks a first aid kit on her desk.

"Geez Scully, have you got those things planted all over the Northern

Hemisphere?" I snap at her.

She ignores my comment.

"We need to get that wound cleaned up."

Wound. She calls this little scratch a wound?

"Sit, Mulder. I'll be back in a minute." She disappears through the

door not even bothering to check if I am complying with her orders.

When did I become so easy to boss around?

I stoop down and gather up the magazines scattered across the floor.

Heaving a deep sigh, I drop into my chair and start flicking through the

pages while I wait. Just like a regular waiting room in a regular

doctor's office, I muse to myself.

Scully returns in a few minutes armed with a bowl of water. Where the

hell does she find these things? Is it some secret doctor code that

just enables her to sense where medical supplies are hidden? She grabs

the First Aid kit on her way past, totally ignoring the sandwich that I

went to so much trouble to buy.

"What are you reading?" She asks as she disentangles the fingers of my

right hand from around the pages of the magazine. The tabloid wilts and

caves in on itself, making it impossible to read the print. I close it

and lay it to rest on the pile with the others.

"A magazine."

She looks at me. That's all it is, a look. But it's enough to send

certain parts of my male anatomy crawling up inside me for cover.

"I know that, Mulder. What's in it that you find so interesting?"

She returns to her task and begins unpacking her tools from the kit.

Gauze, tweezers, antiseptic, sticking plaster, all lined up neatly on

top of my desk.

"What are you doing this weekend, Scully?" I ask as she pulls my hand

close to her breast, holding it under the light to get a better look.

"Why?" She asks, not looking up.

"How does a little trip to New Jersey sound?"

This time she raises her head and looks at me from under a stray strand

of hair that has fallen across her eyes. She puffs it out of the way

and eyes me suspiciously.

"It sounds like trouble, coming from you, Mulder."

She turns her attention back to my hand and starts rubbing vigorously at

the graze with the gauze and antiseptic. She picks up the tweezers and

begins an enthusiastic excavation of the little specks of gravel.

"Hey! Watch it, Scully. That's live flesh and blood you're digging into

there." I shift an inch or two in my seat to keep from yanking my hand

from her grip.

"Spill it, Mulder. What's the sudden interest in New Jersey?"

I reach for the magazine I'd been reading and hold it up triumphantly,

for her to see.

'JERSEY DEVIL STRIKES AGAIN'

Her expression is a mixture of pained disbelief and blatant disgust.

"Oh, Mulder, " she groans. "Please tell me this is a sick joke."

I hold her gaze.

"No. You can't be serious. Have you checked the name of that

publication? 'National Enquirer.' It's a load of crap. Remember this

morning? Getting bawled out in Skinner's office? Stakeout duty? Didn't

you learn anything from that?" Her face is scrunched up in an

frustrated frown.

I calmly place the magazine back on the desk and reach for another. I

hold it up so she can clearly see the front cover. The same picture as

the one on the National Enquirer stares back at her.

"So? What is your point?" she asks.

You're a hard woman, Scully.

"New Jersey Reporter. A reputable magazine, and they are running the

same story. As is another well known hunting journal, 'Open Season New

Jersey.'

"All I see is a bunch of hysterical reporters each fueling the other's

fear and convincing themselves that this thing is real. We've already

travelled this route, Mulder, and proven it to be nothing more than an

anomaly of nature."

"Well, actually, that was never proven and I'm not disagreeing with you

on that. I don't believe that what is being reported here is the work

of the 'Jersey Devil.'"

"You don't think this is an X File?" She sounds both puzzled and

hopeful.

"Oh yes. This is an X file. I'm certain of it. But not in the way you

are thinking."

She turns back to my hand and plucks at the last remnants of gravel.

She sits back and admires her handiwork, frowning as she seems to

consider my last words then lifts her head to speak to me again.

"All right, Mulder, what's *your* theory?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" I grin at her.

Scully sticks a bandage over the graze on my hand and lets it go. I

take the opportunity to make my escape, fully intending to head to the

filing cabinet and retrieve a folder. That is, until I straighten my

leg to stand. A tight, crampy, pain clenches at the muscle in my thigh

and my forward motion is halted as my leg gives way and I collapse back

in my chair.

"Mulder?" I hear Scully's concerned voice.

"Cramp." I grind out.

My hands are pried loose from my leg and I feel Scully's strong fingers

digging into my flesh, massaging the knot with one hand and pulling my

leg out straight with the other.

Eventually she succeeds and I start breathing again. Shit. Now, that

was an intense ten seconds that seemed to last a life time.

"Better now?" She asks.

I nod my head and offer a husky, "thanks."

"What happened, Mulder?" She still has one hand resting on my knee as

she squats before me.

"I don't know. It just hit me when I stood. Must've been all that

exercise I got this morning chasing Cantlon." I deflect her questioning

with the usual flair that I have developed over the last seven years.

"You were limping when you came back, does this have anything to do with

your fall?" Either I'm slipping or she's waking up to me. My flair

just let me down big time.

"Scully." A little reassuring chuckle. "No. I'm fine, really. It was

just a cramp. Guess I'm a little out of shape. Now where were we?"

I stand and this time make a very determined effort to keep the limp out

of my walk. Not as easy as I'd hoped. The dull ache of earlier has

become a sharp pain with each step I take.

I find the file I need in a couple of minutes and return to my desk

sinking gratefully into my chair. Scully is busying herself with

packing away the medical supplies but still manages to watch me from the

corner of her eye.

I pretend not to notice.

The file has streaks of black smudged across it's cover. A stark

reminder of how close we came to losing everything in the fire. This

was one of the few files that managed to remain relatively undamaged.

"I'm still waiting for your theory, Mulder. And it better be good."

The first aid kit has magically returned to its former hiding place and

Scully is back behind her desk unravelling her sandwich from its paper

covering. I guess my efforts at lunchtime weren't wasted after all.

"Okay. It goes something like this. Bodies have been turning up in a

New Jersey state forest. The cadavers have bits missing. Part of a

leg, part of an arm. All gnawed off." I pause for dramatic effect.

No response. Scully sits there chewing on her sandwich staring at me.

So, I'm failing miserably as a showman as well. That fits in perfectly

with all the other things I have successfully failed at today.

"Gnawed off, Scully." I reiterate. "As in eaten, chewed, bitten."

"Go on." She encourages, not in the least bit phased.

"Well, doesn't that remind you of anything?"

"I thought you said we weren't going down that path, Mulder? This is

not the Jersey Devil. And if you are sitting there suggesting

otherwise..."

"No. I'm not suggesting the Jersey Devil per se. I'm suggesting son

of Jersey Devil, or daughter. And I don't mean Jersey Devil as in 'Big

Foot' and 'Sasquatch.' I'm talking about the woman who was killed by

the Atlantic City Police Department. You said it yourself Scully, her

uterus showed signs that she'd given birth. I think what we are seeing

here is the result of that birth. The kid. All grown up with a very

healthy appetite.

"That's quite a leap, Mulder. Why couldn't it be something as simple as

a bear or a mountain lion? Why does it have to be a wolf baby?"

"Because...bear and mountain lion don't exist where those bodies were

found. And, did I say anything about wolf babies? Although that's an

interesting point. I hadn't really considered the child may have been

raised by wild animals."

"Mulder, no."

"Think about it, Scully. The pattern is identical to that of the other

victims in 1993. Only these weren't homeless people. These were

unsuspecting hikers, caught out while walking on their own. This time

the mountain came to Mohammed. Home delivery instead of takeout. Hey

Scully, even primitive creatures are moving with the times."

I grin at her.

She glares at me.

"I'm still waiting for the punchline. You must have more than that.

What aren't you telling me?"

"All I have is a theory. What do we know for sure?" I hold up my

fingers and count off.

"One: The woman gave birth, proven from the medical examiner's report.

Two:..." I pause, this is where my argument gets weak.

"Two: Well, we don't really have a factual two but we do have a two

based on speculation. Let's assume for arguments sake that the child

was ten years old at the time..."

"Sure, Mulder, why not. Pluck any number you like out of the air and

run with that. It's about as substantial as anything else you've

offered."

I scowl at her. "You know, sarcasm does not become you, Scully."

She takes another bite of her sandwich. While her mouth is full I

continue with my theory.

"Let's say the child is sixteen or seventeen. Big enough now to go out

hunting, big enough to overpower a fully grown adult. And, okay, just

to cover some other options, the child could be anywhere from eight

years old to twenty years old, but that's unlikely. I'm going to go out

on another limb here and suggest that it could indeed have been brought

up by wolves or some other forest creature, once its mother died,

depending of course, how old it was at the time. You've got to assume

it's learnt some survival skills, either from it's parents or-and I'm

only suggesting this not setting it in concrete-from whatever type of

animal has taken care of it."

"But why come out in the open now?"

That's better, at least she's asking intelligent questions.

"Maybe its adopted parents are dead. Maybe food is running low, or it

got curious. Who can say for sure, but it's worth checking out.

Imagine what we could learn from it if it was caught alive. I don't

trust the police in Atlantic City. You saw how they hunted the woman

down like a wild animal. All that matters to them is keeping the

casinos full, the slot machines turning over and the tourists spending."

"It's a bit late for that don't you think, Mulder? They've splashed the

whole thing over the front pages of several magazines. They can hardly

keep it quiet this time." She screws up the sandwich paper into a ball

and tosses it into a wastepaper bin on the other side of the office.

"Nice shot, Scully. To answer your question: No. The press has built

this up as the work of a mythical creature, the Jersey Devil. That

legend is as old as the hills; it'll either bring in more tourists or it

will be ignored as just another crackpot report."

"Hmmm. I wonder why you didn't see it that way," she mumbles to

herself.

"And besides, Mulder. That detective...what's his name..."

"Thompson." I supply for her.

"Whatever. Whoever. He's probably got wanted posters with your face on

them plastered all over his office. I can't see him letting you just

waltz in there and start poking around. And Skinner will see you in

hell before he'd be willing to sign off on another 302 based on a

tabloid story."

"Scully, you are so right. And that's why I'm not going to go through

official channels or deal with the local police. I'm going to take some

personal time, mosey on up to New Jersey and take in the sights. I hear

the woods are looking great this time of the year. Care to join me?"

Scully buries her head in her hands. I've got her, I know I've got

her. She won't be able to resist this. Her scientific mind will not

allow her to pass this up.

"No, Mulder. I'm not going."

"Sculleee!"

"I'm not spending my weekend in some two-bit motel stuck out in the boon

docks of New Jersey. Sorry, Mulder."

"All right, Scully. What will it take to change your mind?"

End Part 2 bahnsen .au

A Simple Complication Part 3

By Sally Bahnsen

Disclaimer in part one

Interstate 95

Friday 8 p.m.

"I mean it, Mulder. Four stars or we turn back to D.C. now."

"Scully. I promised, didn't I? When have I ever broken a promise?" I

ask with mock indignation.

"Hmph. Maybe not *broken* your promises, Mulder, but you've sure bent

them out of shape often enough."

"Trust, Scully, whatever happened to trust?"

"Trust no one, Mulder. And when it comes to motel accommodation, that

includes you."

I shake my head in disbelief. I can't understand what her problem is.

Do I not provide a place of rest that offers all the comforts of home?

Television, couch, table to work on, even a bed. Women! I could

dedicate a whole section of the X-Files just to attempting to

understand how their minds work.

"So what exactly is it you hope to achieve out of this little trip to

the woods?" Scully asks as she idly picks at a loose thread on her

sweater.

"I thought I explained all that. We're going to try and find the kid

before the authorities do. They may not be worried about keeping this

quiet but I'm pretty sure they'll be working around the clock to solve

it by whatever means prove expedient. And you can be fairly certain

they are not going to be concerning themselves with the finer points of

discretion."

"Okay, let's assume we find this kid, if it is indeed a child that we

are looking for. What then? Do you think it will just allow itself to

be caught and taken into captivity?"

"I don't know. But I do know we have to try. I'm not going to let them

hunt it down like some kind of rabid dog."

"Mulder, maybe that's exactly what we're looking for. Nothing more than

a wild animal. Where's your proof that the killer is even human?"

"Well, Scully, that's the point of our trip. To gather evidence and

prove our case." I grin at her.

She heaves a sigh, turns to look out the window then shifts her

attention back to me.

"And a spa, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"I want a spa in the room. If I'm going to be trekking all over the New

Jersey State Forest, I at least want to be able to soak in a nice hot

tub when we're done."

And she says I make leaps.

"Only the best for you, Scully."

"And I want to eat dinner in a real restaurant. One where you get to

sit down and choose from a menu, and the food actually has some

nutritious value."

"Are you suggesting that McDonalds is nutritionally challenged?"

The look tells me she is. And she manages it without even moving an

eyebrow.

"Your wish is my command." I say, weaving my hand through the air in an

exaggerated bow.

"Shut up, Mulder, and watch the road."

Lucky Stars Motel

12:35 a.m.

Maybe if we had left for this trip yesterday, or tomorrow, or perhaps

next century, I wouldn't be caught in this vortex of bad luck that

seems to be hounding me today. Maybe if my uncle was my auntie...yadda,

yadda. yadda.

But life doesn't work like that. How was I supposed to know one of the

biggest gatherings of science fiction fans in the US was being held

right here in Atlantic City?

On arrival, all that stood out to greet us were the flashing neon lights

of 'No Vacancy' signs. We must have checked out every motel with a four

star rating in the city. Failing that, we graduated to five stars.

Nothing! Back down to three star and that was just as bad. The

temperature in the car was rapidly plummeting, and it had nothing to do

with the weather.

By 11:30 p.m: tired, hungry and completely at odds with one another, we

managed to scrape up a charming two and a half star motel on the

outskirts of town. Of course 'charming' is in the eye of the beholder.

To me, anything that didn't display the words 'No Vacancy' and offered

something horizontal to lay on and a TV with cable was looking not only

charming but downright spectacular.

My eyes were hurting from staring at the road, my neck was stiff from

avoiding eye contact with Scully, and that annoying pain in my leg was

reminding me of its presence with a little more insistence than earlier.

I snapped up the two remaining rooms with enthusiastic gusto, and as

good luck would have it- for a change- there was even an adjoining

door -although I am wondering at the wisdom of that, given Scully's

mood by the time we found a place to call home. But...what really

nailed it was the community bathtub just down the hall. Scully would

get to soak after all. When I told her this she didn't quite receive it

with the joy and excitement I had hoped. In fact I could have sworn

that her first reaction was to reach for her weapon.

We sorted out the rooms and I dialled a local pizza delivery. I even

let Scully choose. Tonight she introduced me to a new concept:

vegetarian pizza-up until this point in time I'd managed to avoid such

culinary delights. I guess Scully felt she was doing her bit to ward

off my apparent impending heart problems. As much as I hate to admit

it, I kind of liked the taste. The fact that she had encouraged me to

eat vegetables seemed to improve her mood and the chilly aura that had

surrounded us since checking in gradually lifted.

Scully has since retired to her own room and I am left to clear away the

mess.

I pick up the empty pizza box, fold it over and toss it in the general

direction of the tiny trash can hidden under the counter that supports

the television. On my way past I hit the 'on' switch. Immediately the

silver light from the TV screen offers some much needed extra

illumination. The insipid yellow glow from the overhead light just

isn't cutting it. A soft fuzzy noise fills the room. Oh yeah, this

motel is really living up to its meagre two and a half star rating. I

should have realised that decent television reception would be too much

to ask for.

In lieu of catching a late night movie I decide to put in some reading

before calling it a night. My briefcase is lying on the counter by the

TV. I open it and retrieve the Jersey Devil file that is resting on top

of a pile of case notes, then flop onto the bed, landing spread eagled

on my back. I fight back the urge to cough and sneeze as a cloud of

dust swirls lazily through the air. I guess that's another downside of

two and a half stars. Dust, poor lighting and a lousy TV reception.

I turn on the bedside lamp and settle back to wade through the reports

and case files dating back from 1930 up until the more recent sightings

in October last year.

But before I start on the case files there are a couple of other things

I want to check out first. So, I lay the files beside me and sift

through the assortment of computer printouts I collected this afternoon,

deciding to brush up on the general history of the Jersey Devil.

The earliest sightings date back to the 1700s. While it would seem that

differing legends place the 'Devil's' year of birth at 1735, 1778 and

1850, it is generally agreed that the birth place was Leeds Point.

Remains of the old Shourd house, where the devil was supposedly born,

can still be found in the woods today.

Hmm, I wouldn't mind taking a look at that.

Some of the earlier documented sightings of the devil include naval hero

Stephen Decatur, who in 1800, reported seeing a creature in the Hanover

iron works and fired a cannonball through it. The gaping hole had no

affect on the creature. It flew casually away.

The guy must have been a good shot.

Joseph Bonaparte, the former king of Spain and son of Napoleon, saw the

Jersey Devil while hunting on his estate near Bordentown in the early

1800s.

Then there were a spate of sightings in 1909 where over one thousand

residents in thirty towns around Delaware saw the creature in January

alone.

All very interesting reading, but for now, I'm sticking with my 'wolf

boy' theory.

I drop the printouts on the floor by the bed and pick up my files.

Maybe there's something in these that I missed last time. Something

that will help me find the child before the local authorities do.

Lucky Star Motel

4:00 a.m.

Dammit! I've just about exhausted all the possibilities. One chance

left. I make my way over to the rickety wooden chair in the corner of

the room, eyes fixed on my black leather jacket draped carelessly over

the back. There's gotta be some in there. It's my last hope. I

propel myself awkwardly forward by leaning one hand on the table and

one on the counter reluctant to put my foot to the floor.

The intermittent pain in my leg has become a relentless ache, deep

inside my thigh muscle. Weight bearing isn't impossible, but it is damn

uncomfortable.

I reach for my jacket and search the outside pockets. Nothing. I delve

into the little pocket camouflaged in the lining and...bingo! Twelve

Tylenol capsules wrapped nice and snug in their plastic covering. I

close my eyes and offer a silent thank you to whoever may be listening,

knowing full well that the one who really deserves the thanks is

sleeping soundly in the next room. Scully. In all likelihood these

little white gems are left over from some other forgotten time, a time

when I was suffering the effects of something a little more serious than

a bruised thigh muscle.

I pop three capsules from the blister pack, return the rest to my pocket

and head off in search of water, limping my way to the bathroom.

I wonder idly why my leg would be hurting this much. Yeah, okay, so a

baseball bat jammed into me, but hell, it wasn't that bad.

I lay back on top of the bed, drape my arm across my eyes and wait for

the painkillers to kick in. I'm not even sure I'd describe the pain as

a throb anymore. It's more like a persistent squeezing. I roll onto my

side and try massaging the muscle but that hurts too. So, gritting my

teeth, I lay still and wait for the tylenol to work.

Lucky Star Motel

6:30 a.m.

The radio alarm squawks an inhuman shriek into the stillness of my

room. I slam my fist at the snooze button with a little more force than

I'd intended but it does the job and silence reigns once more. Not that

I was asleep. I've been lying here willing the time on. I know you're

not supposed to take these painkillers before four hours but I'm not

sure I'm gonna last that long. The ache started again about half an

hour ago and hasn't let up.

"Mulder." A knock on the adjoining door and a muffled call from my

partner.

Dammit. I bet she's up and dressed and looking like a million dollars.

"Mulder? Are you decent? I'm coming in." Boxers and a t-shirt is

about as decent as I get at this time of the morning.

"Yeah, come in Scully." I sit up slowly and swing my legs out of bed,

swallowing pack a gasp as the sudden movement sends a lance of pain

through my thigh.

Scully slips through the connecting door and joins me.

"Mulder! I thought you wanted an early start?" She pauses, her eyes

travelling over my body. The scan continues around the room, her

roving eye coming to rest on the scattered papers adorning the floor,

the bed and the nightstand.

"You look like hell. Did you get any sleep?" Her eyes narrow as she

looks at me accusingly.

"What? Six-thirty not early enough for you, Scully," I snap at her.

Her face caves into a frown and she opens her mouth to retaliate. I

apologize before she gets the chance.

"Sorry." I comb my fingers through my hair a couple of times then turn

back to look at her. Her expression is expectant.

"I didn't sleep well."

"It shows. Why don't you get showered and dressed and meet me in the

diner for breakfast."

Yeah, yeah. Just go. I gotta take some more Tylenol.

"Fine. See you in ten." I force my features into a less than convincing

smile.

"Fine." She closes the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.

My leg is still taking my weight, but it's no fun. I hop to my jacket.

What the hell, who's going to see me? I decide to save walking for the

public arena.

Lou's Diner

7:00 a.m.

By the time I make it to the diner, the little white pills have

performed their magic and the pain is a mere shadow of its former self.

The relief is almost overwhelming and my mood is much lighter than

before. As penance, I may even let Scully order me something healthy

for breakfast.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon permeates throughout

the diner. My mouth waters in appreciation and any intentions of

letting Scully order for me fly out the window. Suddenly I'm starving

and craving a *real* breakfast.

I search the diner and find Scully sitting in a corner booth sipping on

orange juice and digging daintily into what I presume to be cereal. I

grab the waitress on my way over and place my order with her before

sliding into the booth.

"That was a long ten minutes, Mulder." She eyes me over the rim of her

glass.

I don't bother answering her.

"I'll call a waitress over and you can order something to eat," she

offers.

"Not necessary, Scully. I've already ordered." I smile at her.

"Hmm. I can imagine." She dips the spoon into her bowl of shredded

cardboard, puts it in her mouth and chews appreciatively.

I take a second to look her over. She has her hiking gear on. Blue

jeans, white t-shirt, and red checked, flannel shirt. She looks good,

kind of like a little girl playing 'dress up' in her dad's clothes.

"What are you smiling at, Mulder?"

"You, Scully. You look... hot." I suggest, casually.

"It's okay, I've allowed for the weather. If it gets too hot I can

strip down. I'm wearing a t-shirt under the...what? What the hell are

you laughing at?"

"I wasn't referring to the weather when I said you looked hot!" I can

barely contain myself, but with some effort I manage not to choke on my

laughter.

Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Dana Scully blushing. Now that

*is* hot.

She deftly side steps the compliment and turns the conversation to the

case.

"Still planning on heading up to the park this morning?"

"Yep. I want to speak to the ranger. See if he can add anything to the

newspaper reports. I also want to take a look at the area where the

latest body was found."

"What makes you think the ranger will co-operate? And supposing he

does, what do you hope to find? It's been over a week since the last

body was found and I'm sure the area would have been thoroughly

searched."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that. Look, Scully, I'm pretty certain they

know what killed those hikers. That's not the point. It's what they

are going to do about it that I'm concerned about. The press can have a

field day promoting the theory of some kind of monster, call it

'Bigfoot', 'The Jersey Devil', whatever. It's the perfect smokescreen.

While all the attention is being focused on a monster, the authorities,

the Atlantic City Police Department, will be hunting down a 'wolf

-child' with the intent of killing it. I'm not going to let that

happen."

Scully places her hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Before she can say anything, the waitress arrives with my breakfast.

Bacon, eggs and hash browns. Scully gives me a disapproving frown.

"Hey, I need the energy."

She heaves a sigh. "Eat up, Mulder. I'm gonna go pack the backpacks.

You did remember to bring the water bottles didn't you?"

"Sure. They're in the trunk, with the medical kit, the extra flash

lights, spare blankets, flares and ponchos. I think you might be

suffering from over kill, Scully. It's just a day trip."

"Hah! I've got one word for you, Mulder. Mothmen. I'll see you back

at the motel."

I watch Scully's retreating form. When I'm sure she's out of sight I

stretch my leg out in the aisle and rub at my thigh. The ache is

building again and it's only been an hour since I took the tylenol.

This could be a long day.

end of part 3

A Simple Complication 4a / 12

by Sally Bahnsen

Disclaimer in part one

Garden State Parkway

Saturday

8:21 a.m.

"Mulder, this article really doesn't go into much detail about the dead

hikers. The reporter seems more intent on stirring up the Jersey Devil

legend. It says that it all started, and I quote here..."

Scully pauses and throws me a sceptical look before continuing.

"...'When a woman who was pregnant with her thirteenth child was said to

have given birth to a 'devil child' that flew away up her chimney.

While the claim can never truly be substantiated...'- that's for

sure..." she smirks.

"Go on, Scully, keep reading." I prompt.

She sighs but keeps going, "...'Several New Jersey residents have

reported sighting the demon child on a number of occasions over the past

two hundred years..."

She reads quietly to herself for a few minutes, running her finger over

the print as she goes.

"Basically, Mulder, all that is being said here is that anything unusual

or unexplained is shoved under the banner of the Jersey Devil."

"Which is exactly why I want to find this kid before the authorities

do. Hysteria, hype, whatever, the truth won't even enter into it. The

child will be labelled a 'devil' and hunted down as such. Think about

it, Scully. By allowing rumors of the Jersey Devil to circulate via the

press, the Atlantic City Police Department can stand back and without

criticism, let any trigger-happy hunter loose in the woods under the

guise of tracking down a monster." My frustration at the death of the

woman seven years ago is clawing its way to the surface.

"Mulder, I can't help wondering if maybe you've..."

"What?" I demand.

"Maybe you've got the wrong slant on this..."

"Those bodies had parts of their arms and legs chewed off. *Chewed*

off, just like last time."

"Without seeing an autopsy report there is no way to prove it was done

by a human."

"I've told you already, there are no wild animals out here. No bear, no

mountain lion, the most ferocious animal you're likely to encounter is a

disgruntled beaver. And, I might add, the bodies were discovered

nowhere near water. My thoughts are that the food supply has somehow

reduced and the child has been forced to hunt outside its natural

habitat."

"There is another possible explanation."

I glance at her quickly, wondering where she is going with this.

"We've seen something similar before. Have you considered the

possibility that some other type of wild animal, something a little more

dangerous, from...from...somewhere else might have been abducted and

transported to...Mulder?"

The car skids precariously to the side of the road, I fight with the

steering wheel to keep the car from running into the guardrail. When I

get both the Taurus and myself under control I blow out a long gusty

breath and wipe the sweat from my brow.

"Scully, are you trying to get us both killed? You've gotta give me a

little more warning before you launch into something like that. As much

as I like the idea that you are considering extreme

possibilities...you're going to give me a heart attack if you start

expounding paranormal theories without at least a little warning."

Scully glares at me from the passenger seat before continuing.

"I'm only saying that maybe, after everything we've seen, it shouldn't

be discounted without at least some investigation." She looks away

guiltily. I'm not sure why, perhaps she feels as if she's just betrayed

the entire scientific community.

"I'm all for keeping an open mind, Scully, you know that." I grin at

her.

"Get over in the right hand lane, Mulder, the next exit is ours."

I get the message loud and clear; the subject of 'alien abduction' is

closed for now.

Wells Mills County Park

New Jersey

8:40 a.m.

From a distance, the ranger station is just visible, hidden amongst

shadows created by the tall pine trees surrounding it. The building

itself is a log cabin structure with a porch in front and a few steps

leading up to a sliding glass door. A small parking lot surrounds the

immediate building, government issue signs stand like rigid sentry

guards indicating that this area is reserved for staff cars and

emergency vehicles only. Around back and up a narrow asphalt road is a

larger parking lot for the general public.

I opt for the staff lot, the only vehicle visible is the ranger's four

wheel drive parked under a modest garage attached to the office. I

figure on only being here long enough to question the guy and find

directions to the crime site.

"Not much sign of activity." Scully comments as she pushes her door

open.

"It's still early. Most of the weekend park dwellers won't be out until

later." I open my door and climb out.

The moment I'm upright, the throb in my thigh increases. Along with

that inconvenience, I realise that somewhere along the journey, my foot

has fallen asleep. My toes are tingling, almost numb.

I'm forced to hang on to the car door and wait out the initial pounding

triggered by standing. I rub my hand over my face and close my eyes.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?" I ask, snapping my head up and pushing away from

the door.

"You look like you're in pain."

"No, I'm fine. My foot's gone to sleep. Pins and needles," I offer by

way of explanation shaking my foot lightly in order to restore some

circulation.

I steal a quick look at my watch. Two hours since I had the last

Tylenol. I weigh up whether I should try and wait out another hour or

top up with a capsule now.

The throbbing seems to be easing up and the feeling is returning to my

foot. I decide to bite the bullet and hang on for a while longer.

"Come on, Scully, let's go talk to the ranger."

"Mulder." Scully pulls my arm so I'm facing her.

"What is it?"

"Remember, we are not here in any official capacity. If the ranger's

not willing to talk..." Her voice trails off and I get the distinct

impression that what she's not saying is what I'm really supposed to be

hearing.

"Scully! Are you suggesting that I would be anything other than my

charming self?"

"No, Mulder, I'm suggesting that you *should* be anything other than

your charming self. You cannot pull rank on this guy, no matter how

uncooperative you think he is being. We have no jurisdiction here."

"Trust me Scully, I keep telling you that."

"I know you do, Mulder, and that's what worries me."

"Good morning, folks, how can I help you?"

The guy seems friendly enough. I give his office the quick once over.

A long counter runs the length of the cabin. Scattered over the surface

is an array of maps and brochures, pointing out the parks best features

and places to visit. Behind the counter is an oak desk, which seems to

be a life support system for loose-leaf papers, manila folders and a

stack of magazines that look like they might date back to the nineteenth

century. Hmm, I could be at home in a place like this.

Behind the desk, standing on a table in the corner is a two-way radio.

I see a door leading off the main office, opening onto a small

kitchenette. I guess there's probably a bathroom in there as well.

I return my attention back to the ranger and study his name badge- Jeff

Davies. Not the same guy the press was reporting as the one who found

the latest body. But, he'll do for now.

"Hi, my name's Fox Mulder, and this is my par.." A thought suddenly

strikes me..."um...my wife, Dana." I feel Scully stiffen beside me at

the same time as I notice a crestfallen look cross the ranger's face.

What is he thinking? That he's going to hit on Scully while we are

here? I don't think so, pal. I drape my arm around Scully's shoulders

and pull her a little closer.

He holds out his hand to me and nods at Scully, "Mr and Mrs Mulder, Jeff

Davies, what can I do for you?" I bite back the smile I feel creeping

across my face...Mrs Mulder...yeah, it has a nice ring to it.

"We're up visiting from D.C. I've been reading some pretty interesting

magazine reports over the past few days. Is it...is it true that the

Jersey Devil's been seen around here recently?" I study the man's face,

trying to gauge his reaction. He offers me a slight twitch of his

eyebrow, before breaking into a wide grin.

"You've come to the right place, Mr Mulder. The..." he raises his

fingers in the air imitating quotation marks..." 'Jersey Devil' is seen

around these parts pretty darn regularly. It's our biggest tourist

attraction." He folds his hands on the counter and puffs out his chest

with pride, as if he personally is responsible for the upturn in the

tourist trade.

"Really?" I ask. "Well, you know, that's very interesting.

I...um...*we* were kinda hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature

ourselves. Can I share something with you Mr Davies?" I ask dropping

my voice slightly.

"Go ahead."

I feel Scully's eyes drilling holes into me. She hates it when I do

this, she's never quite sure which way I'm going to jump. She'd never

admit it, but Scully is not real big on surprises. It's nice to know

that after seven years I can still keep her guessing.

"I've been studying up on the Jersey Devil ever since I was a kid, kind

of a hobby with me. That...that's why when I read the magazine and

newspaper articles about those hikers being killed, I said to Dana ..."

I give Scully an affectionate hug for emphasis, "...I said, 'you know

honey, this might be the biggie. The one and only *real* opportunity to

catch a look at this creature. Nothing like a couple of bodies to

produce some hard evidence and prove the infamous legend really

exists.' I'd sure like a chance to see the 'Devil' for myself." I lift

an eyebrow to show the guy how hopeful I am.

Another little nuzzle with Scully for added effect, coupled with an

indulgent smile. I'm on a roll. In fact I may just quit my job at the

FBI and take up acting, this is real Emmy material.

The ranger shrugs. "You never know your luck. I have several maps here

marking some of the more recent sightings. Are you experienced hikers?"

"Yes."

"No."

Scully and I answer simultaneously.

"We are." I confirm, squeezing Scully a little closer and hoping she'll

get the message.

"No matter, the trails are clearly marked, I only ask because we have

advanced walking trails if you really want to get back to nature." He

picks up a couple of brochures from the counter and opens them out.

"See here, this trail will take you around the lake and up a slight

incline, it can be a little hard going but the view is well worth it.

Did you bring binoculars? The bird life is really something to see

along this route."

"Hmm, it sounds very interesting. I'm a little concerned though," I

tell him.

Scully does a quick dip from under my arm and leans forward over the

counter to get a better look at the map.

"According to the newspaper reports the hikers were killed in *this*

park. Were they walking one of these trails?" I point to the map laid

out before us. "While I'm keen to see the Jersey Devil, I'd prefer Dana

and I weren't its next meal. Do you really think the 'Devil' was

responsible for the deaths?"

"No, sir, to be perfectly honest I don't. What you read in the papers is

pure hype. We had two hikers fall to their deaths on separate

occasions. The press got wind of it and contrived their own version.

But that doesn't mean you won't get to see what you came looking for.

We've had a couple of recent sightings of the 'Devil'. Who's to say it

isn't the real thing? The tabloids like to jump on the publicity

bandwagon, one person starts to make noises that the Jersey Devil is

responsible for killing those two young men...the press picks it up and

before you know it, everyone's talking as if it's fact. Like I told you

though, there's no real harm done and it brings in the tourists."

"Two deaths in the one park in as many weeks. That's quite a

coincidence, don't you think? I wouldn't mind having those odds on my

side down in Atlantic City." I lean a little closer claiming some of

his personal space.

"These things happen. We see it more often than I'd like; inexperienced

hikers wandering off then getting themselves lost. That's why the trails

are marked, to avoid this type of tragedy."

"So, if we stick to this trail here..." I run my finger along the red

line winding through a thick patch of green..." we should be safe?"

"Yes, sir, those two fellows wandered off in a northerly direction,

here." He points to a place an inch to the side of the marked path.

"It gets a little hazardous in that area. Stay away from there." He

looks at me, his expression deadly serious.

Hmm. I consider this for a moment. "Both those hikers were killed in

the same place? Makes you want to ask the question: what lured them

into that particular area?"

"It's a very scenic route, lots of wildlife. If you were a nature

enthusiast or a keen birdwatcher, the temptation to explore further into

the park often overrules common sense." He shrugs. "Maybe they thought

they saw the Jersey Devil."

"Maybe. Were the bodies autopsied?"

I feel a slow pressure build in the toes of my left foot. I look down

and see one of Scully's size fives pressing down on my boot. Her eyes

are boring into me, a clear warning written in them.

"Can't see why they would be? It was pretty obvious how they died.

You've sure got a lot of questions." The eyebrow twitch has mutated

into a full arch. Suspicion is swimming in his eyes.

"Just naturally curious, I guess. When I'm not studying up on the

Jersey Devil, I'm reading crime novels. Dana here says I should have

joined the FBI or something." I offer a very reassuring smile to our

friend Mr Davies and yank my foot out from under Scully's before I am

forced to utter some very undignified words.

"Well, Mr Mulder, stick to the path on the map and you should be fine.

Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, Jeff, you've been most helpful," I gather up the map and brochure

then offer the ranger a firm handshake.

"Well, you take care, now, and remember, stick to the marked paths. We

don't want any more accidents happening."

I wave my understanding then guide Scully through the door.

"What the hell was that all about, Mulder?"

"What? Was I not the ambassador of good manners? Did I flash him my

badge, mention I was with the bureau? I was so charming that for a

minute there I nearly had to pinch myself to make sure it was really

me."

"I *mean*, the husband and wife act." She is keeping perfect pace with

my long strides, a sure sign that life is not perfect in the Scully

camp.

For a second her comment actually wounds me. "Is the thought of being

my wife really so repugnant to you, Scully?"

She stops suddenly, then turns slowly towards me.

At first I'm not sure how to read the look on her face. It's a mixture

of shock and some kind of realization rolled into one. What she means

by that expression is anyone's guess. Her mouth is moving but there's

no sound coming out. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say my

question had hit a raw nerve.

"Mulder...I...it's not that. I...uh..." I decide to stop her before

she does herself some real damage tripping over her words.

"Hey, relax, Scully, I was only kidding. It's a good cover story

though, don't you think? Mr and Mrs Mulder. It has a certain...Ow!

What was that for?" I rub my shoulder and give her an offended look.

"Just catching up on one that I probably owe you and forgot about."

Oh, God, I think my knees are gonna buckle. She's just flashed me her

million dollar smile. The one that lights her eyes and turns them a

deep sapphire blue, the one that scrunches her nose so you can't help

but notice the little sprinkling of freckles decorating it, this one

even includes teeth and if I'm not mistaken I think I hear a little

giggle.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go catch us a Jersey Devil." She tugs on my

sleeve then turns and heads back to the car.

"Jersey Devil *child*." I correct her when I can eventually make my

voice work again.

End of part 4a

A Simple Complication part 4b / 12

By Sally Bahnsen

Disclaimer in part one

******************************8

One hour into our trek and I am just about ready to chew my leg off. I

can feel sweat dribbling between my shoulder blades. Droplets pool on

my top lip then every few minutes trickle over the edge, winding a path

under my chin and onto my chest, soaking the neck of my t-shirt.

It occurs to me that perhaps I was a little hasty in my decision to

forego the Tylenol. It is taking every ounce of will power I have to

not throw myself at Scully's feet and beg for painkillers. If that were

to happen I know my chances of finding this child would amount to zip.

Scully would have me whisked off to the nearest Emergency room quicker

than you can say 911. So I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself

groaning and fight valiantly to keep the limp out of my walk.

"Mulder, the ranger was right. This is truly beautiful country. You

know, it is so easy to forget how to appreciate nature, to only focus on

the hustle and bustle of city living. Always rushing to meet

deadlines...I'm really glad you brought me with you. Even if this turns

out to be a wild goose chase, I just want you to know that I'm having a

good time."

I'm glad someone is.

Scully stops and turns to face me. Her cheeks are bright and a fine

layer of perspiration graces her brow. She looks beautiful. The

picture of good health.

"That's...great...Scully..." My leg feels as if someone is squeezing

the thigh muscle and twisting it inside out. While I may have had a

minimal amount of success at hiding my limp from Scully during her

preoccupation with Mother Nature, I realise that the strained panting

that accompanies my words has just set off Scully's 'med-alert' alarm.

"Mulder? Are you all right?"

I pause to consider her question, trying to decide what my chances are

of admitting to the pain and then convincing Scully that a couple of

Tylenol will do the job just fine. I almost have the answer formulated

in my mind when the throbbing stops.

For about two seconds.

"AArghhh!" I clutch desperately at my thigh as the muscle contracts

into a tight and extremely painful cramp. I hop blindly towards the

side of the path and collapse in a tangled heap on the ground.

"Mulder? What is it?"

"Cra...aaarggh! Shit!" Another spasm hits. I curl over my leg and try

to massage the knot.

"Cramp?" Scully asks.

I nod my head, not trusting my words to come out in anything resembling

intelligent speech.

I feel Scully's hands on my chest, gently pushing.

"Lie back"

And in a scene reminiscent of what happened yesterday in the office,

Scully unclasps my hands from around my leg and replaces them with her

own. For a small woman Scully has remarkably strong hands. I feel the

force of that strength flowing through her fingers and digging into my

flesh. It hurts. I brace my good leg on the ground and lift my hips,

pushing myself backwards as if by doing so I can somehow distance myself

from the source of agony.

"Hold...still...Mulder!"

I ease back onto the ground, cover my eyes with the heels of both hands

and concentrate on trying to relax. Gradually the spasms stop and so

does Scully's massage. When I eventually get my breathing back on an

even keel, I lift my hands and squint at Scully, who is straddled in a

most unpartner like manner across my right knee. Her hair is hanging

about her face in untidy tendrils, and she is puffing with the effort of

working on my leg.

"Hey, Scully." I venture, testing the water.

She glares at me.

"Thanks." I offer.

She leans back, hands on hips, her weight resting on my knee. Any other

time I would find this rather...well...rather enjoyable. But now, while

the spasms have eased up, the ache is till pounding away in my thigh,

which as a consequence is making the rest of my leg kind of

uncomfortable.

"Um, Scully. Could you get off me? Not that you're heavy or anything

it's just..."

"Just what, Mulder?" At least she's speaking to me.

"My leg hurts." There! It's out. I said it.

"Really? You're kidding me, right?" She climbs off and stands up,

hands still resting defiantly on her hips. She appears a lot taller

from the ground up.

"That's twice in two days, Mulder. What the hell's going on?"

"I got a cramp, Scully. It could happen to anyone." I shuffle up into

a sitting position, not quite ready to brave standing and putting weight

on my leg.

"That may be true but when it happens to you, it's more than just a

simple cramp. So, come on, out with it. What's going on?"

Not only does she look tall from the ground up but the word menacing

also comes to mind.

"Okay. I might have hurt my leg yesterday while apprehending Cantlon.

But it's nothing, really. I think I just bruised the muscle. So...no

big deal, now if you'll just give me a hand up, we can be on our way."

I stretch out my arm, expecting Scully to help me to my feet. However,

she doesn't move. She just stands there, staring at me.

Fine. I'll get up on my own. I roll over onto my hands and knees then

push myself upright. Ah, shit. I balance on one leg for a second then

put my full weight on both feet. I feel a cold sweat break out on my

forehead and under my arms. Hoo, boy, this is not looking promising.

"Mulder." Scully takes me by the arm. "You're in pain. Come and sit

for minute and let me examine you."

"I'll be fine." I reach inside my pocket, pull out the packet of

Tylenol and hold them up for her to see. "I've got the magic remedy

right here." I smile at her as I swing the backpack off, rest it on the

ground and dig around for the bottle of water.

"Have you been taking painkillers since yesterday?"

"No, I haven't. I took a couple this morning and they worked fine.

Give me another couple of minutes and I'll be fine again." I slide the

blister pack from the box and push two capsules into my hand. The pills

slide easily down my throat with a little of the water.

"How exactly did you hurt yourself yesterday, Mulder?"

I heave a weary sigh. She's not going to quit. But...if I play my

cards right...

"I tackled Cantlon and fell on a baseball bat." I close my eyes and

shake my head. When I say the words out loud, what happened to me

sounds so...so...stupid!

Scully folds her arms across her chest and gets a look on her face. Do

I detect a hint of amusement mixed in with her concern?

"A baseball bat? You fell on a baseball bat? Dare I ask *how* you

happened to fall on a baseball bat?"

"Sculleee, when you say it like that you make it sound like a scene out

of the 'Three Stooges'. Cantlon was using the bat as a weapon. I..."

Oh, boy, here we go again, "he hit the gun out of my hand, and when I

tackled him the bat came between us and jammed into my leg. See?

Simple. It is not something to get all worked up about!"

"Well, Mulder, for something so simple you seem to be in a lot of pain."

"Only because the muscle cramped. Now that it's stopped, I'm as good as

new."

"I could do with a break, how about we sit for few minutes and let those

pills do their work."

Oh, God, yes, that's the best idea I've heard in a long while.

"If you're feeling tired, Scully, I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a

rest."

I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulders. Now that the

cat's out of the bag I don't bother hiding the fact that I'm favouring

my right leg.

We wander a little further up the path, looking for a suitable place to

rest.

"Here, Mulder, this will do." Scully leads me to one of the wooden

barricades beside the walking trail. Perhaps barricade is too strong a

word. My guess is that the fence-like structure is there to remind

hikers not go wandering off into unchartered wilderness. Anyway, right

now, the barricade is going to serve as a seat.

I ease myself down and swing the pack from my shoulders. Scully does

the same then sits back, watching me.

"What?" I ask.

"Mulder, why didn't you tell me that you were in pain this morning?"

I drop my head momentarily before meeting her eyes.

"It's not that bad, Scully. Really. I'm okay."

Her eyes linger a little longer, as if summing up my answer before

deciding whether to accept it or not. I guess she rules in my favour,

her eyes leave mine and her attention turns to the backpack wedged

between her feet.

"Hungry?" She asks.

"You brought food?"

"Sure. I picked it up from the deli while you were still eating

breakfast. If we're going to put in a full day's hiking we have to eat.

Unless you were planning to go 'Caveman' on me, Mulder, and hunt down a

wild animal for lunch?"

"Very funny. What did you bring?" I hadn't really given food much

thought, but now that the subject has come up, I guess I am feeling

hungry.

"Sandwiches."

"I'm not really in the mood for bean sprouts and tofu on rye." I whine

at her.

"Just as well." She hands me a paper bag. "Peanut butter and jelly,"

she announces like she's just presented me with the Nobel prize.

"Ooh, Scully, splurging out!"

"You may not know this, Mulder, but peanut butter is a very nutritious

food staple. It contains protein, fibre, vitamin E, niacin, folate,

vitamin B6, B1, B12, magnesium, phoserous, iron, copper, zinc, and

calcium..."

"Sort of a brown, gooey vitamin pill." I finish for her.

"It's more than that, Mulder. One ounce of roasted peanuts provides 10%

of the daily value of folate recommended for lowering the risk of heart

disease." For some reason she looks pointedly at me while making this

statement.

"And you gained all this rivetting information from where? The back of

a peanut butter jar?" I ask while releasing this amazing cure for all

human ailments from the confines of the paper bag.

"No, no. I've read about this in at least two leading medical

journals. As you know I like to keep up to date and abreast of new

developments. And in the past seven years, I must say, I've had ample

opportunity to catch up on my reading while waiting in various emergency

rooms throughout the country."

Her eyes hone in on me again.

"I'm glad to have been of service to you, Scully."

"A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is an excellent energy source. The

sugar in the jelly gives you an instant energy hit while the

carbohydrate in the bread releases energy into your body gradually over

time. Did you know that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white

bread contains almost no cholesterol and less saturated fat than other

items such as a chicken fillet burger, hot dog, a slice of pepperoni

pizza or a hamburger?"

Suddenly the peanut butter and jelly isn't looking as appetizing as it

was.

"And...Did you know, Mulder, that there are actually web sites dedicated

to peanut butter?"

"Well, well, the secret life of Dana Scully. You actually surf the net

in search of peanut butter web sites?"

She purses her lips and fixes me with an icy glare.

"I read it in a medical journal."

No kidding.

"Scully, tell me something. Do you ever eat food simply because you

enjoy the taste of it?"

"I like the taste of everything I eat. Just because it's good for you

doesn't mean it has to taste bad."

"Really? I was under the impression of the exact opposite. If it

tastes good, then it has to be bad for you."

"That depends..." A low growling sound rumbles over the top of Scully's

words.

My hand automatically reaches for my weapon, but I hold off on drawing

it. I drop the bag and what's left of my sandwich into the backpack.

"What was that?" Scully whispers, tossing her uneaten lunch beside

mine.

I put my finger to my lips and slowly stand up, adjusting my stance a

little when my right leg almost gives out from under me.

Scully stands beside me, her hand hovering at her back, finger-tips

brushing the top of her holster.

Another burst of growling, this time a little louder and a little more

insistent. The undergrowth behind the fence rustles, but I see nothing

to tell me what is causing it.

"Wait here," I tell Scully.

"Mulder, stop. We don't know what it is." Her words are quiet,

features strained.

"That's why I'm going to take a look," I hiss back at her.

She pulls her weapon and holds it in both hands, ready to cover me if it

should become necessary.

A sound resembling that of a distressed animal screeches through the

peaceful tranquillity of the woods. My heart jumps into my throat and I

steal a quick glance at Scully. She's moved from passive observer to

trained investigator in a matter of seconds. Her arms are stretched out

in front of her, the gun cocked and ready to fire.

I nod my approval at her, swallow hard, then make my way along the path

towards the sound. The painkillers have taken the edge off the ache in

my leg, but the prospect of finding the Jersey Devil child has done an

even better job of taking my mind off it.

I climb the guard rail, and pause, listening. The woods are strangely

quiet. I creep closer, the skin at the back of my neck prickling in

anticipation of what might be waiting. A rustle of bushes behind me. I

swing around. Nothing. A quiet, slow growl to the left of me. I rub

my fingers together, the skin on my hands clammy, nerves twitching,

anxious to draw my weapon, but still I hesitate. I'm not sure what to

expect, but if it is the child, I don't want to risk accidentally

hitting it with a stray bullet.

"Mulder!" A harsh plea from my partner.

I move again.

SWOOOOSH! A figure leaps from the bushes, running away from me. I am

momentarily stunned. For all the world, the thing that erupts from the

scrub is an animal, but it stands on two legs. I catch only a fleeting

glimpse of the creature and in that split second it is impossible to

tell exactly what it is but I do know one thing: it doesn't resemble any

animal I've ever seen before.

Its small stature enables it to move quickly and almost undetected

through the bushes, the only clue that it is on the run are the rustling

of leaves and branches as it cuts a path through the woods.

Without hesitating any longer I break into a run and give chase. This

may be what we came to find. If not...well, it's something and I want

to know what.

My mind is fully occupied in negotiating the terrain and not losing

sight of the creature. In the back of my mind I am aware of my leg

twinging in protest each time my right foot hits the ground but I refuse

to give into it, not now, not this close to maybe discovering one of

nature's true anomalies. I vaguely wonder if Scully is following behind

me.

Whatever this thing is, it's fast. The effort of remaining upright and

ducking under low hung branches is beginning to take it's toll. My leg

is more insistent about reminding me that all is not well and my chest

is heaving with the added strain of fighting to maintain my balance

while running.

I stop.

The moving branches and soft rustle that I had been following no longer

offers me guidance as to where the creature is heading. My breathing is

loud in my ears and I strain to hear, listening for any unusual sounds.

But the forest is still and quiet. Too quiet. Once again the silence

screams at me that something is not right. I hold my breath and listen

harder. Nothing. Then...

THWACK!

Something slams into my side, knocking the wind out of me and sending me

sprawling to the ground. My head bounces off a rock or a log or

something, a swirl of lights dance across my vision. With trembling

arms I push myself to all fours, pausing to catch my breath and fight

back an overwhelming urge to decorate the forest greenery with peanut

butter and jelly.

WHAM!

Whatever hit me before has decided to come back for a second go. Caught

off guard and already dazed, I am an easy target as the creature crashes

into me again. Lurching sideways, I hit the ground with my right

shoulder and hip. The force of impact jars my leg and sends a bolt of

agony from thigh to toes.

The thing moves with lightning speed. For a creature that I deduced to

be only around five feet tall, it's doing a damn fine job of kicking my

ass. Nice to know that some things never change. I wonder idly why it

hasn't come in for the kill.

"Mulder!" Then the answer arrives in the form of my partner.

"Mulder! Are you all right?"

Scully doesn't rush to my side. Not exactly. She kneels beside me and

with one hand edging along the side of my neck, does what has almost

become a routine act of greeting for us- she checks my pulse. The other

hand is stretched out in front of her, moving her weapon in a slow arc

around the surrounding forest.

I brush her hand from my neck.

"I'm not dead, Scully."

"What the hell happened, Mulder? What was it?"

"What was it? That's a very good question. I didn't actually get the

chance to take a good look. I was too busy getting my ass kicked."

"Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride." I sit up a little straighter, wincing when my head

reminds me that more than just my pride suffered in that little

encounter. I reach up and feel the back of my skull. No blood, but

already there is a decent sized lump forming.

"Did you lose consciousness?" Hoo, boy. Here we go, Dr Scully,

Medicine woman performing amazing feats of medical prowess out in the

wilderness. And as much as I love the way she cares for me, I really

can't afford to have her look me over too closely. Not if I want to

keep Scully on my side while we search for the 'wolf child.'

"No."

"Are you nauseous, dizzy?" She pries my eyelids open a little wider and

stares at my pupils.

"No and no." Not anymore.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"Okay then, Mulder. All things considered, you seem fine."

That's it? No 'track my finger,' 'do you know what day it is?' 'What

did you eat for breakfast?' Hmm. I got off lightly this time. Not one

to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decide to climb to my feet before

she changes her mind.

Arrrrggh. Shit! As soon as I stand my leg goes into total rebellion. A

sudden burst of pain shoots through the thigh muscle radiates down my

calf and into my foot. I scramble for support clutching at Scully to

prevent myself from hitting the ground again.

Before I can gain control it a groan slips past my lips. I bend over

and close my eyes, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside.

*Now* I feel nauseous and dizzy.

In the background, Scully's voice floats around me. I'm not really

paying much attention to what she is saying, but the tone is soothing,

encouraging, and it helps to know she is with me.

Eventually the pain drops to a bearable level. Enough so that I can

stand up straight again. I realise that my left arm is draped around

Scully's shoulders. Funny, I don't remember doing that.

"Mulder, do you think you can make it back to the path? The backpacks

are still there and I need the medical kit."

I nod my head and draw a deep breath to steady myself. "I think I'm

okay now." But even to me my voice sounds husky and anything but okay.

"Sure you are G-man. Let's go, I want to see for myself."

I wonder how she plans to do that. X-Ray vision? Because if she thinks

I'm going to drop my pants in the middle of the New Jersey State Forest,

along a public hiking trail...well, she can think again.

End of part 4b

A Simple complication 5/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Wells Mills county Park

Saturday 11:30 a.m.

"Okay Mulder, lose 'em!"

"Excuse me?" I know damn well what she's referring to.

"I want to see the damage you've done to your leg, and in case you

hadn't noticed, I can't do that unless you drop your pants." She

rummages around in the backpack as she speaks. We've manged to make it

back to the trail and our backpacks without any further close encounters

of the 'wolf boy' type. Scully currently has me perched on the wooden

barricade while she squats at my feet searching for the medical kit.

"Scully, you have no idea how tempting an offer that is, but let me just

remind you that we are in the middle of a public park and not in any

official capacity as you were so quick to point out. How do you think

Skinner is likely to react if two of his agents are arrested for

indecent exposure in New Jersey? Let me tell you in case you have any

doubts. Do the words wiretap duty or suspension mean anything to you?"

"Mulder there's no one around for miles. I only want to take a look."

She pulls out the medical kit and rests it on the ground.

"I promise that when we get back to the motel, my leg is your leg, to do

whatever you want with. Although I can think of more interesting parts

of my anatomy that deserve a little attention." I raise my eyebrows in

a suggestive leer.

"Well, Mulder, if you happen to injure yourself in that more deserving

part of your anatomy, I promise to give it plenty of attention." She

doesn't face me but I'm able to see the corner of her mouth turn up in a

smirk, and for a second I am scrambling for a comeback of my own.

"I'd really prefer it didn't come to that, Scully, I'm kind of

protective about the family jewels."

Scully studies the medical kit for a second, looks at me, scans the

area, glances back at the medical kit again then puts it away in the

backpack.

"Do you think you can make it back to the car?" She asks, squinting up

at me before peering back along the path.

"No. I..."

"Dammit." She thinks for a moment then slides her hand inside the front

pocket of the backpack, pulls out her cell phone and gets ready to punch

in a number.

"Um...Scully? What are you doing?" I rub my hand along my thigh,

working at keeping the ache away.

"If you can't walk out of here, Mulder, I'm going to call for help," she

tells me matter-of-factly.

"Whoah, just a minute. First off, I don't think your cell phone will

work out here and secondly, when I said 'no', I meant that I had no

intention of walking back to the car. Scully, I've *seen* what we came

out here to find. I'm going back in there," I indicate the thick

forest behind us, "to track it down."

"Mulder! You can hardly walk, how the hell do you think you are going

to keep looking for this thing when you can barely put one foot in front

of the other?"

"I admit that my leg hurts..."

"...well that's a start," she chimes in.

"But, only when the muscle cramps and that may not even happen again.

I'm sure I can keep going. I have to. We may not get another

opportunity to find it."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

I heave a frustrated sigh. "I'm fine now, look at me."

She does.

"Yes, at the moment you are okay, but I wasn't referring to that. I

don't think it's a good idea to mess with nature. What are you going to

do if you catch this...this...so called 'wolf child?'"

"Scully, there have been numerous documented cases of feral children

being captured and taken back into society. Look at the case of

'Victor the wild boy' found outside of Lacaune, France in 1800. This

boy was discovered in a wolves' lair when he was approximately 12 years

old. He lapped water like a dog, refused to eat anything but raw meat,

bit anyone who got too close to him, spent his nights growling, and his

days grunting inarticulate sounds..."

"My point exactly. Where would a child like that fit into society?"

"Look, if a child like that can be rehabilitated back into civilisation

in the 1800's, I'm sure with today's modern medicine and advances in

psychology, there would be one hell of a good chance that the child we

are seeking could be taught to adapt."

"I read that story too. Only I remember it as a dismal failure. A

French doctor worked with that child for ten years. Everyday he was

tickled, massaged, bathed in hot and cold water in an attempt to

stimulate his senses. It took that long before any kind of meagre

communication between the doctor and Victor developed. Apparently it

was another 5 years again before he could be trusted in a normalized

environment. At 30 years old he still whimpered like a child when

separated from the doctor, sat rocking himself staring at walls and

avoiding all eye contact. Eighteen years after being found the boy was

no better off than when he was discovered with the wolves."

"I'm impressed, Scully. You did do your homework. Did you also read

that Victor had a three inch wide, six inch long scar on his larynx? In

all likelihood someone had tried to kill the boy then dumped him in the

woods."

"Because they thought he was intellectually disabled," she states.

"Yes. Don't you see, Scully. That boy never had a chance from the

start. The child we are chasing is in the woods alone because its

parents were killed. Not because it was an idiot and abandoned. I

still believe he or she has a chance to be rehabilitated into normal

society. I'm not saying it will be easy, but what's the alternative?

Let the child be hunted down and killed?"

"It's already killed two innocent people, Mulder, and attacked you."

"It was acting out of self defense. It was scared and saw me as a

threat. It could have killed me but it didn't."

"Only because I arrived and scared it off."

"Scully, please. We have to at least try. Where's your sense of

scientific adventure?" I rub my hand lazily up and down her arm. She

stares long and hard at the ground.

"You do this all the time, Mulder. You talk me into going along with

your crazy ideas and nine times out of ten all it amounts to is a whole

lot of trouble and a stack of paperwork." She pauses then looks up at

me before continuing.

"Look, I'll do this on one condition. That you are totally honest with

me about your injury. If it gets too bad, you tell me and we turn

back. I am NOT, and I repeat NOT spending one single night out in the

woods because you didn't know when to call it quits. Do we understand

each other?"

"I promise. If it gets so bad that I can't go on you will be the first

to know." I hit her with a look so innocent that I almost feel guilty

pasting it on my face.

"And no bullshit, Mulder!"

"Scully!"

She checks her watch. "Okay, its 11:45 now. We've still got plenty of

daylight left and I want to be back at the ranger station with some of

that daylight still up our sleeve. Two hours out and two hours back

plus another hour to make it to the car. Agreed?"

Is she kidding? She's the one calling the shots right now.

"Agreed, Scully. Indian guide's honor." I hold two fingers up to my

forehead in a salute.

"Okay, let's go." She hoists the backpack over her shoulders.

I stand up and grab my own pack at the same time as a knife seems to cut

straight through my thigh. I give my botton lip a good work out with

my teeth to stop myself from crying out. Scully is watching me

suspiciously and I offer her a weak smile.

"I'm ready, let's move it out."

Somewhere in Wells Mills County Park

1:36 p.m.

The going is not as easy now as when we were following the marked path.

I have taken to snapping small branches in half to leave a trail for us

to follow back. Scully is marking our route on one of the maps the

ranger gave us, using a compass to guide her. I feel pretty secure in

the knowledge that at least we won't get lost.

As the noon sun forces it way higher into the sky, the rays creeping

through the overhead branches are making the forest underneath as hot

as a sauna. The sweat no longer beads on my forehead or lip but runs a

steady course down the side of my face, pooling momentarily at the base

of my neck before running off and soaking into my t-shirt. I reach up

and undo the front buttons of my denim shirt. Scully has long discarded

her checked one and has it tied neatly around her waist. I marvel at

the way her hips swing ever so slightly as she steps out, the back pack

bouncing off her nicely rounded ass. A welcome distraction from the

pain building through my leg and the constant nagging throb in the back

of my head.

"Mulder."

She snaps me out of my quiet appreciation of her physical attributes and

I feel like a kid who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What's the matter?" She looks at me, puzzled.

"Nothing, you just startled me."

"Oh. I've been thinking, when or if we do find this child. What then?"

"What do you mean?" I ask wiping my sleeve across my brow in an effort

to stave off another river of sweat from making its way down to my

clothing.

"I mean, how the hell are we going to get it out of here?"

She stops walking and daintily dabs at a drop of perspiration weaving a

damp trail along the side of her cheek with a white lacey handkerchief

magically produced from the pocket of her jeans. She is a contradiction

of determination, mental toughness and pure femininity all rolled into

one. A perfect package.

"That's a good question, Scully. I think the answer is fairly simple

though. We don't. I want to find it first, find its lair then get

someone who knows what they are doing to come out and rescue it. This

time I want proof positive that the child is real and not some kind of

monster. I want photos to back up what we find and then if necessary I

will go to the press and present my case. Never underestimate the power

of the media, Scully. The Atlantic City Police Department wouldn't dare

allow the child to be killed once the discovery of what really is

lurking in the woods is made public knowledge."

Scully does something that really surprises me. She takes my right hand

in both of hers and caresses the back of my knuckles.

"You know, Mulder. Sometimes your childlike propensity for attracting

trouble and putting yourself in danger...well...it really pisses me

off." I go to pull my hand free but she grips it tighter.

"Don't, Mulder. I'm not finished." She smiles up at me, her eyes misty

and her mouth a soft pink curve.

"I know I don't always agree with the way you do things, and that will

probably never change, but I want you to know how much I admire the way

you fight for what you believe is right. The way you defend the weak

from being manipulated by forces stronger than even they can

contemplate. I thought this idea of yours, chasing after what I

believed to be a fictional character from a long held local legend was

just another waste of time and effort. I guess...what I want you to

know is, that I respect your determination and I support what you are

trying to do. You're right, this child will be allowed to be killed by

the authorities. You are a good man, Mulder, and I'm proud to call you

my friend and my partner."

I automatically search through my repertoire of smart ass comments, but

my mind is totally devoid of anything but stunned shock. I know there

has always been an unspoken mutual respect between Scully and myself,

but to hear her actually say it out loud has left me with a sudden tight

and painful lump in my throat, and I'm really not sure how to get the

words out around it without betraying the fact. I am left with the

ability to say little more than one word.

"Thanks." I smile back at her and squeeze one of the small hands

surrounding my larger one. "Thanks, Scully."

We look at each other for a few more seconds, then the moment is lost.

We both puff out an awkward sigh.

"How about a drink break?" Scully suggests, back to her practical self.

"Sounds good." I reply, shuffling my feet like a 14-year-old who's just

had his first kiss.

We find a relatively smooth rock and perch ourselves on that. I pull

out the brown paper bag containing the peanut butter vitamin pill and

offer it to Scully.

"Still hungry?" I ask. "It would be a real shame to waste an energy

boosting health food like this, especially one that actually tastes

good."

She takes the bag from me and opens it, passing me my earlier discarded

sandwich before unravelling her own hastily rewrapped lunch.

"You may scoff, Mulder, but later on you'll be glad to have this in your

stomach." She takes a bite to punctuate her statement.

I give my tattered sandwich a quick inspection, it's a little worse for

wear, but Scully is right, we are both going to need the energy to keep

going.

As I chew the sandwich, I unscrew the lid of my water bottle and wonder

if I have any chance of sneaking a couple of Tylenol out of the pack

without Scully noticing. Not likely. I have them stored in the front

pocket of my denim shirt.

Then I get an idea.

"Oops. Nature calls. I'll be back in a minute, Scully."

She nods at me. "Be careful, Mulder. We don't know how the survival

instincts of this kid work. He may be waiting to separate us before

attacking."

"This is a 'wolf boy,' not a mothman."

"Just be careful." She reminds me.

I slip the bottle of water up under my arm and head off taking cover

behind a large pine tree that is surrounded by some smaller bushes. The

pain in my leg is a solid ache again and I'm a little anxious that I'll

be hit with another cramp. This time I push three of the little white

pills from their blister pack and swallow them down with a long swig of

water. I take a quick look around, unzip my pants and do what I said I

was coming here to do in the first place. Might as well try and stick

to the truth as much as possible.

Just as I finish fastening the top button on my jeans I hear a noise

behind me. I swing around but see nothing. The prickling feeling at

the back of my neck has returned and with it a new release of adrenalin

rushes through my veins. It's probably nothing, but I've come to trust

my body's instincts over the years. I step out cautiously and start

walking backwards towards the rock where I left Scully, glancing back

over my shoulder to make sure I don't lose my footing.

I hear nothing else that gives me cause for concern so I turn around and

face the front.

"AAAARRGH! Shit!"

My leg erupts in an explosion of pain as something blindsides me. It

catches me right across the muscle on my bad leg, before scampering off

amongst the trees.

"SCulleeeeeeee." Pain reduces me to a whimpering mess on the ground. I

wrap my hands firmly and protectively around my right thigh. I can

feel myself rolling around on the ground but nothing relieves the fire

in my leg.

"Aaarggh." I groan helplessly into the dirt.

"Mulder! God, what's wrong? Another cramp?" I hear Scully beside me

and shake my head.

"Shit." I half gasp, half sob. Tears leak unbidden from the corners of

eyes.

I feel Scully's arms wrap around me, holding my upper body tight while I

grip my leg in an effort to find relief.

"Mulder. Shhh, it's okay, I'm here." I feel my breathing rasp through

my nose, my lips locked in a death grip between my teeth. I consciously

try and open my mouth so I can breathe properly but have only minimal

success. The air whistles through my teeth.

"Scully," I gasp. "...it hurts."

"Shh, I know Mulder, try and relax." I can feel her hand rubbing across

my shoulders as she holds me. Gradually I am able to suck in deeper

breaths. It seems to help. The pain is slowly receding to a level

where I no longer feel as if I'm going to die.

I lay in Scully's arms, shivering and gasping. Her hand brushes across

my brow, fingers weaving through my hair. My eyes relax, no longer

squeezed tightly shut, and my breathing calms.

Scully continues to stroke my brow as she speaks to me. "What happened,

Mulder?"

"Don't...know...think it...was...the...kid..." Another wave of pain

washes over me. I curl tighter into a ball.

"Okay, don't talk yet, don't talk."

"Hurts."

"Shhh."

I lay there another couple of minutes, huddled in Scully's embrace.

"It...hit...me.."

"What hit you, Mulder? The kid?"

"Yeah...caught me...in the...leg. Same...place...as Cantlon."

"Do you think you can sit up for me?" Scully pulls under my arms,

manouvering me into a sitting position. I push myself upright, using my

hands as leverage and being very careful not to jostle my leg. Scully

supports my back.

"Okay, we've gotta get you out of here. I want you to see a doctor."

"No! No, Scully... just give me... a few minutes, I'll be all right...

caught me by surprise, I'll be fine."

"Uh-uh. Not this time. You are not weaseling out of this. You

promised, Mulder."

"I promised if I couldn't go on then I'd let you know. I don't believe

I've met that criteria yet." I tell her, pulling myself up a little

straighter. I turn my head as I feel the comfort of Scully's body

disappear. She is standing up, hands on hips, shoulders heaving up and

down as she fights to control her temper.

I roll over onto my hands and one knee - my right leg I keep straight

out behind me- and push myself up, hopping on my left foot. For a few

seconds my head spins a little but the dizziness passes quickly. I rest

the toes of my right foot on the ground to maintain balance.

"Scully?"

She turns to face me, her expression surprisingly calm, then walks to

where I am standing.

"You look terrible, Mulder."

I feel terrible so her description is probably accurate.

"I'll be okay." I say quietly.

Scully pulls my right arm across her shoulder, "Let's get you back to

the rock. I want to look at your leg, and no arguing!"

"Just a second, I dropped my water bottle around here somewhere." I

pull my arm from her shoulders and half hop, half stagger to where I

think I dropped it.

"There it is, Mulder, I'll get it." Scully strides past me and squats

down to retrieve the plastic bottle from under some bushes. As she

reaches for the bottle her hand seems to freeze in mid air, then with

both hands she starts to push some of the branches to the side. I watch

her, wondering what the hell she is doing, but before I have a chance to

ask, she disappears inside the bush.

"Hey, Mulder. Take a look at this," she calls.

I stumble to the place where Scully has vanished and drop awkwardly to

one knee.

"What is it, Scully?"

"I think you need to come in here and see for yourself."

I push the bushes to one side and slither in on my left side to join

Scully, who is crouched in a corner of a small cave-like dwelling. Her

brow is creased in a confused frown, she does a quick scan of our

surroundings then turns her gaze to me.

"You were right, Mulder." This statement is made in much the same tone

of bewilderment she used when admitting to me that the artifact from

Africa might be alien in origin, holding all the secrets to the

existence of human life.

The bush enclosure is made of tightly woven tree branches, camouflaged

by a thick covering of green foliage. Just to the left of where Scully

is squatting there is what could only be described as a nest. Dried

leaves and small twigs have been piled into a corner. One or two

primitive looking tools made of stone lay on the ground by the 'bed'.

"What's that, Scully?" I pull myself a little further inside and point

to what looks like a piece of blue material, dirty and mottled with

brown stains, laying partly buried under the pile of leaves.

Scully scoots a little closer and puts out her hand to pick it up.

"Wait!" I yell.

She nearly jumps out of her skin.

"You got latex, Scully? That could be evidence." I nod towards the

scrap of material.

She blows out a slow puff of air. "You're right, Mulder, I guess I

wasn't thinking of this as being a case. I do have some gloves but

they're in the backpack."

"Try pulling it out with a stick." I suggest.

She finds a small twig and scrapes at the piece of cloth, edging it out

from under the leaves. As she gets it all the way out it becomes

obvious that something is attached to it.

Oh god! My stomach jumps into my throat and it's all I can do to stop

myself from throwing up. I turn away and cover my mouth and nose with

my hand.

"Jeezus, Mulder. I think it's part of a human hand, there, this bone

here, it looks like the metacarpal bone in the thumb. In fact the base

of all the fingers are still intact but the tops are missing. God,

Mulder, they look like they've been chewed off. And look at the wrist

bone..."

"I'd rather not."

"I need to examine it in a lab to be sure, but it's possible that these

marks here, " she points to a particularly battered looking piece of

bone, "could have been made by human teeth."

"Well, Scully, I guess we've found our proof. Let's go get the evidence

kit and the camera, I want photos of this. Cold, hard evidence that

the 'wolf child' really exists. And...and we need to search the area,

there might be other bones lying around."

Scully leans over and touches my hand. "Mulder...I...I owe you an

apology. I really didn't think we were going to find this child. I

don't know what I thought was responsible, but this...this is amazing."

"I know, Scully. Now comes the hard part; convincing the authorities to

take it into custody alive."

Half an hour later, Scully has the bones safely tucked away in an

evidence bag and I have the photos I need to at least make people sit up

and take notice. My first step to prove the existence of the New Jersey

version of the 'wolf child'. We found more bones buried in the leaves;

part of a foot and some smaller fragments that Scully identified as

toes. Scully did most of the scooting in and out of the 'cave',

insisting it wouldn't do my leg any good crawling around on the ground.

I had to agree with her. My feelings were that the ground and I had

spent enough time together for one day.

Finally, it feels as if the Tylenol has kicked in, dulling the pain down

to a managable level.

"Mulder, before we head back to the car I want to check your leg. We've

still got a lot of walking ahead of us and I think it will be easier on

you if I strap your thigh and you take some more painkillers." Scully

speaks to me and pulls out the medical kit from the backpack yet again.

Oh, shit. I guess this is where I fess up about the three Tylenol

already swimming around in my system.

"Um, Scully...before, when I went to... you know... went to the

bathroom, I took some Tylenol at the same time."

"Really? And you were going to share this little piece of information

with me, when?"

"Now?" I answer hopefully.

"So you're feeling pretty good at the moment?"

"Yes. Yes I am, much better in fact."

"Sit, Mulder!"

"What?!"

"You might think you're pretty clever hiding behind the Tylenol, but let

me tell you something, the level of pain you are experiencing suggests

to me that you have done something more serious than just bruise a

muscle. I've seen you in pain before Mulder, under a number of

different circumstances. What I saw when I found you on the ground

earlier is one of the worst I've had to witness for a long time. Now

drop your pants and let me examine you!"

"Any other time, Scully, I'd be happy to..."

"NOW, Mulder."

"I wonder if this is what my mother envisaged when she warned me about

wearing clean underwear." I mumble to myself as I unbuckle my belt and

work at the button on my jeans.

"Mulder, I bet this was the last thing your mother had on her mind when

she was worried about clean underwear." Scully has a bandage out of

the medical kit and is standing next to me waiting for me to expose my

wares.

"Can you at least turn your head away? Don't I deserve a little privacy

here?" I whine at her.

"I'm going to see you anyway, Mulder, just get on with it."

I lower my jeans to just below my knees and sit back down on the rock.

"Cute, Mulder. Marvin the Martian has always been one of my favourite

cartoon characters." She smirks, gazing appreciatively at my boxers

before squatting by my side.

I flinch as she gently runs her fingers over my thigh. Oh God, pain or

not, it is going to take every mundane, boring, thought I can draw on to

act as a distraction so I don't completely embarrass myself.

She presses a little harder on the sore spot and I nearly launch myself

into space.

"Sorry. You've got quite a bit of swelling here. I'm surprised there's

not more bruising. Could be a tear in the muscle and it's bleeding

internally." She lightly massages along the top of my thigh, edging

towards my groin. Hoo boy! Just as I start to feel an all too familiar

-and in this case very unwanted- tell tale stirring, slightly south of

my belly button, I grab her hand and move it back towards my knee.

"It hurts down *there*, Scully." I grind out through clenched teeth.

"Just checking." She looks up at me innocently.

"And I'm just helping you. We wouldn't want to waste anymore time than

necessary." I glare at her.

"I can't make a definitive diagnosis out here Mulder, but I'm going to

err on the side of caution and assume you've torn the muscle. I'll

strap it, that should make you a little more comfortable till we get

back to the motel, then I want you to rest, elevate the leg and apply

some ice packs."

Do I argue now or wait till we get back? Can't see the point in

spending the next hour and a half or so in stony silence, so I agree

with her and decide to work on a counter attack on the way back to the

car.

"You're the doctor, Scully, whatever you say."

"Yeah, right, Mulder."

I have a very strong feeling she doesn't trust me.

"Here hold this in place." She hands me the edge of the bandage and

places my hand over the swelling, then proceeds to wrap my leg securely.

"Hows that? Not too tight?"

"It's good. Thanks."

"Okay, you can pull your pants up now." She grins at me and sneaks one

more peek at Marvin.

"Thank you." I tell her injecting a little sarcasm into my tone.

End of part five

A Simple Complication 6/12

by Sally Bahnsen

Wells Mills County Park

Walking Trail

Saturday 3:50 p.m.

"How are you holding up, Mulder?" Scully looks up at me from under my

arm where I have had it draped over her shoulder for the past 30

minutes. I know she must be struggling under my weight and however

unfair it may be, I have found myself gratefully leaning on her,

depending on her small frame to take most of the weight off my right

leg.

"I could do with a break actually." It's the least I can do.

She turns her head sharply and gives me a long look.

"Okay. We'll stop when we reach the next barricade." A smile plays

about her lips but doesn't quite reach her eyes.

We stagger on another hundred yards or so until one of the wooden guard

rails comes into sight. I remove my arm from around Scully and the

backpack from shoulders then limp the last few steps under my own steam,

easing myself down on the rounded edge of the fence. I wriggle my

toes. For some reason my right foot is tingling with pins and needles.

This day just keeps getting better and better.

"What are you doing?" Scully asks as she pulls her drink bottle from

the pack, opens it and takes a quick sip.

"My foot's fallen asleep." I bend over and attempt to massage my toes

through the thick hiking boot. It seems a fairly useless exercise.

"Hmm. Maybe the bandage is too tight. You better let me check it."

Scully screws the lid back on her bottle and studies me for a few

seconds.

"And how to you propose to do that? We're no longer 3 or 4 miles off

the beaten track, and there is a very strong likelihood that we are not

the only people traveling along this trail. Sorry Scully, you've had

your fun for today. The pants stay up until we get back to the motel

room. Then...and only then do you get to see Marvin again." I pull my

own drink bottle from the side pocket of my backpack, unscrew the lid

and take a long draught emptying the bottle without taking a breath.

She watches me, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

"How's the pain, Mulder?"

"Honestly? While I'm sitting it's not too bad. Walking is a bitch,

though." I replace the empty bottle in the side pocket of the backpack.

"Not much further now," Scully reminds me, her tone sympathetic.

"Yeah, we should be back at the Ranger station in another half hour or

so." I check my watch for confirmation.

"I really think I should check the bandage, if it's too tight it might

be cutting off the circulation and doing more damage than good."

"It feels fine."

"Seriously, I think I should make sure. I can't think of any other

reason why you would have pins and needles. It's not like you've been

sitting in one place for any length of time."

"Sculleeee."

"Come on, Mulder, there's no one about." She swivels her head left and

right, peering up and down the path.

I puff out a long breath of air, pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop

my hands to my belt buckle in defeat.

"You've got thirty seconds." I warn her.

"You'd be surprised what I can do in thirty seconds, Mulder." She grins

cheekily.

Once again, I present Marvin the Martian to the New Jersey State forest

and Scully gets up close and personal with my right thigh, slipping her

fingers inside the edge of the bandage and giving it a little tug.

I mean, really, can it get any more embarrassing than this?

"Urr..hmm."

Both Scully and I swing around at the sound of a throat being cleared

and come face to face with a giant of a man. His rugged features are

scrunched into a puzzled frown, eyes squinting suspiciously at Scully

and me. A wispy fluff of brown hair pokes out from underneath a New

York Yankees baseball cap which sits haphazardly angled to one side of

his head. Like me his flannel shirt is unbuttoned at the front,

exposing a slightly rounded belly hanging lazily over the top of his

blue denim jeans. He could be my age, maybe a little older, he is

definitely taller and wider than me. Attached to his right hand is a

little girl with long, blond hair, braided neatly into two plaits that

hang almost to her waist. Her dark brown eyes peer tentatively up at

Scully and me from a safe place just behind the man's hip.

Oh, Shit! Not now. I really don't need this.

"Everything all right here?" His voice matches his build and I am a

little surprised he didn't start his question with ' fi fie fo fum'.

Scully pulls herself up to her full height. Her chin jutting out just

in front of the man's sternum.

Nice try, Scully, but I think you're slightly mismatched.

"Yes...thank you. My...uh...partner injured himself and I was just

checking his bandage." She reaches into her back pocket and whips out

her ID.

I reach for my pants and whip them back up to their rightful position at

my waist.

"Uh...huh." The guy looks unimpressed.

"I'm a doctor." Scully tells the man.

He squints at her badge. "Says here you're an FBI agent."

"I'm a forensic pathologist with the FBI." Scully replies as she

returns the ID badge to her pocket.

"Official FBI business, eh?" The man nods in my direction.

I fiddle with the belt buckle trying to force the end of my belt through

the loop, an exercise I can usually achieve in 1.5 seconds flat- with

my eyes closed. But under the intense scrutiny of a 6 foot plus, 250

pound man and his bewildered ten year old daughter, suddenly all my

natural flair and dexterity for doing up belt buckles flies out the

window, along with the tattered remnants of my dignity.

"No...I just told you...oh, never mind." She almost stamps her foot.

Almost. "How far is it back to the ranger station? My partner is hurt

and needs to see a doctor."

"Didn't you just say you were a doctor?"

Jeezus, Scully. Just get rid of the guy and let's get going.

Scully's hand slips automatically to the top of her right hip,

fingertips gently caressing the butt of her gun.

"How far back to the ranger station?" Scully snaps out again.

"Oh... you're looking at maybe one and a half, two miles." The guy

scrapes a large calloused hand along the stubbly five o'clock shadow

outlining his jaw.

"Thank you." Scully scoops up her pack, swings it over her shoulder

and turns to me. "Come on, Mulder, let's go."

I nod at the man as I pass him by and avoid all eye contact with his

daughter as I head off after Scully.

When I catch up to her I open my mouth to make my feelings known.

"Don't say it, Mulder. Just don't say a word."

I clamp my mouth shut again and heed Scully's advice.

Scully sets a scathing pace for all of 100 yards until she realises she

is walking alone and I am lagging further and further behind. Her Irish

temper seems to have got the better of her again. And thankfully, this

time I'm not to blame.

She waits up and eventually I limp my way to her side.

"Hey, Scully? Are you trying to set a new race walking record?"

She glares at me.

"Mulder! Why didn't you say something? You must have seen him coming

along the path."

"I...I...ME? I'm the one who told you to wait until we got back to the

motel! How the hell did this become *my* fault?" Pain and

embarrassment have sent my temper soaring to match my partner's.

Scully loops her thumbs behind the straps of her backpack, does a quick

turn on her heel and stalks about five or six paces down the trail.

With her back still to me, she stops abrubtly and turns her face to the

sky. I can imagine what she is doing. Her eyes will be closed and she

will be breathing very slowly...in through her nose and out through her

mouth, continuing this exercise until she feels herself slip back in

control.

She drops her head to her chest, waits a couple of seconds then turns

and walks back to me.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. That was unfair."

Do I know this woman or what?

She looks up at me and puffs a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. My

heart clenches tightly in my chest. For a second I am overwhelmed with

the desire to take her in my arms and kiss her. Fortunately I have

enough sense of self preservation to know that now is neither the time

nor the place.

I settle for a smile instead.

She returns it and then giggles. I guess we must have looked pretty

strange. Scully kneeling on the ground with her head only inches from

my naked thighs.

Scully's giggling is contagious and I find myself joining in with her

laughter.

"One thing I'll say about being partnered with you, Mulder; it's never

dull."

"I aim to please." I tell her with a wink.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day, let's get back to

civilisation. C'mere." She tugs on my arm and wraps it around her

shoulder. "Let me help you."

I do. One, because right now, the way my leg feels, I could really use

some help. And two, well, lets just say any opportunity to have

Scully's body this close to mine is an opportunity not to be wasted.

Wells Mills County Park

Ranger Station Parking Lot 4:40 p.m.

"Oh Crap!" I stop short just as the parking lot and our rented Taurus

come into sight.

"What the hell...?" Scully echoes my own thoughts exactly.

No. This can't be happening.

"What do you think they want?" Scully whispers at my side.

"I don't know." I reply, running my hand through my hair and massaging

my forehead. "Only one way to find out." I remove my arm from Scully's

shoulder and, willing my leg to hold me up, step carefully towards the

patrol car parked a few yards from our vehicle. Scully takes up

position by my side.

A Ford Crown Victoria displaying the emblem of the Ocean County

Sheriff's Department is pulled up behind our car. Two uniformed

men-one on either side of the patrol car-are leaning casually with

their arms hooked over the open doors of the vehicle. From here, I can

just make out another figure seated in the back.

As I approach, both men stand up straighter, shut the front doors and

each take a step away from the car. All their moves perfectly

choreographed.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end in a basic,

primal, act of warning. Adrenalin pours into my blood stream as my

body automatically prepares itself to fight or take flight.

I paste a non-threatening expression on my face and force a friendly,

casual lilt into my voice.

"Hello,officers. Is there something I can help you with?"

The two men take a few more sauntering steps in our direction. "Is this

your vehicle, sir?"

I glance quickly at Scully. Her puzzled expression reflects my own

confusion. I decide to play nice until I can find out what the hell is

going on.

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

Both men look behind them, it only takes a second for me to register

that they are peering into the back of their car, seemingly seeking

guidance from the shadow hiding within.

Instinctively, my stomach clenches into a tight ball. Men hiding in

shadows have had that effect on me over the past few years.

My spine tingles as I watch the back door of the car ease slowly open

and the shadowy figure steps out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Recognition flashes through my mind and so does a detached form of

relief. I had been running off a mental checklist, trying to come up

with a feasable identity for the person hiding in the back of the car.

I have to admit, the man facing me now hadn't quite made it to the top

ten list of possible suspects. Although in hindsight he should have

been number one.

"Detective Thompson." I say evenly.

"It's *Captain* Thompson, Mr Mulder." He nods his head non-committedly

in my direction.

"Uh huh," I reply. "And it's *Special Agent* Mulder." I say,

emphasizing my title. Okay, so it's probably the last thing I should

have said under the circumstances but my alpha-male tendencies are

racing to the surface, leaving common sense and reasoning in their

wake. And the man standing in front of me just happens to do an

excellent job of bringing out what Scully refers to as my

'testosterone-loaded' responses.

"Really? And you would be here for what purpose, 'Agent' Mulder?" He

succeeds in spitting my rank out as if it were something nasty that has

found its way unbidden into his mouth.

"Just getting back to nature, enjoying the great outdoors and taking in

some of the New Jersey country side. Of course, I had no idea these

activities were worthy of police investigation, *Captain* Thompson." I

inject a note of sarcasm into my own voice and despite the fact that I

know I am displaying the completely wrong attitude to have this turn out

right; I just can't help myself.

"I didn't realise the FBI was encouraging holy matromony between its

agents now." He looks pointedly at Scully before returning his gaze to

me.

I don't bother answering him. Instead I try to figure out how the hell

he came to know of our cover story.

The look on my face must have told him of my surprise. "Not as smart as

you think you are? You should check who you're speaking with before

you go around opening your big mouth. I believe you met my

brother-in-law, Jeffery, this morning." I groan inwardly. Well, that

would explain a few things.

"I haven't forgotten you, Agent Mulder. I had a feeling this case

might..."

"And I haven't forgotten you, either, Captain. I remember very clearly

you giving the order to murder an unarmed woman in cold blood..."

Thompson takes two steps forward and his face hovers inches from mine.

"How would you like to spend the rest of the weekend in the lock up,

Agent Mulder?" His jaw tenses as he poses the question. I feel a

certain childlish delight in having incited him to anger.

"Hmm, I believe you actually have to have a justifiable reason before

you can throw someone in jail. Or is my law enforcement training

letting me down? So, unless taking a walk in a state forest has become

a criminal offence I just don't see that happening. Now, if you'll

excuse us, Agent Scully and I will be on our way."

I push past him and only take three steps before two pairs of hands

grip me tightly on each arm. One of the hands forces my right arm up

behind my back, the backpack digging into my elbow on the way. I

grimace painfully as the tendons in my shoulder crack in protest. I

bend over slightly trying to relieve some of the strain.

"Hey! Let him go! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Atta girl, Scully. You tell them.

Struggling against these two 'apes' proves fruitless and all I manage to

achieve is having my arm pulled further behind my back.

I stifle a moan.

"Taking a walk in the State forest may not be a criminal offence, Agent

Mulder, but I'm sure you'll agree that interfering in a police

investigation is a whole different ball game. It sure as hell is enough

to buy me some time to check out just exactly what it is you've really

been doing out here." My head is forced down until all I can see of

Captain Thompson is the tops of his black dress shoes.

"What the hell are you talking about, you son-of-a-bitch?" I spit at

him. This earns me another solid yank on my arm before my body is

propelled forward towards the Taurus, the two big gorillas pushing me

showing no sign of letting up.

Not until my body slams into the side of the car.

Agony shoots through my right leg as it takes the brunt of impact and

this time I make no effort to stifle anything. A scream tears loose

from my throat. Vague sounds hover around me. I press my cheek into

the smooth metal of the car hood-still warm from the afternoon

sunshine-and fight to stay conscious. As inviting as the thought is of

giving up and letting myself drift into a pain-free sleep, the fear of

what these bastards might do to Scully forces me to stay awake.

Although just how much use I can be as the 'great protector' in my

current predicament, and if my recent track record is anything to go

by, then Scully is probably better off handling this without me.

The deputies release their grip on my arms and with their loss of

support my body slides freely from the car hood and heads towards the

ground. But pride steps in and I push myself upright, balancing on one

leg just as Scully appears by my side. She puts her arm around my waist

for support; and I gratefully accept her assistance.

"I won't tolerate your interference this time, Mr Mulder. Get back in

your car and go home."

I don't answer him. Can't answer him. My throat is tight and I find

myself swallowing hard, trying to stop myself from vomiting in front of

these assholes and further disgracing myself.

"You've just assaulted a federal officer, Captain Thompson. An

unprovoked attack. If I were you, sir, I'd be more concerned with the

repercussions of your..."

"Don't preach to me, little lady. This is my territory, my

investigation, one word in the right ear and you two will be censured so

damn fast your heads will be spinning. Now get the hell back to D.C.

and mind your own damn business." Thompson's face is an ugly mask of

rage.

"Why?" I challenge him, finding my voice again. "What are you so

afraid of? What are you hiding in the forest, Captain?"

He stares at me long and hard, his expression gives every indication

that he'd like to kill me, or at least hurt me very badly. Yeah, take a

number and get in line, Thompson, you're not Robinson Crusoe there.

Instead of committing murder, Thompson decides to answer my question.

"Afraid, Agent Mulder? I'm not afraid of anything. I'm trying to

conduct an investigation and I don't appreciate uninvited interference

by the FBI. Especially from the likes of you..."

"I know what killed those hikers. And I know how you plan to bring the

perpetrator to justice. You're hunting down a child, a child who has

killed for survival, who has no idea that he or she has committed an

unlawful act. This child needs..."

"A child? You think a child killed those hikers?" He snorts a sharp

burst of humourless laughter. "Where the hell did you come up with that

crazy idea?"

"You know as well as I..."

"I know that I've been more than patient with you, Agent Mulder. I

suggest you and the little lady here get in your car and leave this park

while I'm still feeling generous."

I open my mouth to continue my argument, but Scully's fingers wrap

around my hand and give it a little squeeze, the quiet warning I hear

in her voice as she whispers my name stops me from continuing the

argument.

A self-satisfied grin spreads across Thompson's face. He turns on his

heel and strolls back towards his car,deputies in tow.

Scully and I stand in stunned silence as the police car speeds off,

leaving a flurry of exhaust fumes and dried leaves swirling in its

wake.

"That went well." I concede to Scully. Then nearly collapse against

her as the adrenalin rush leaves my body and the pain in my leg becomes

so intense that I wonder if staying conscious is even an option now.

"Mulder!"

"Give me a minute, Scully." I bend over, both hands gripping my leg as

I wait out the relentless thud pounding through my thigh.

"Mulder, come and sit down." Scully's suggestion sounds pretty good

right now and I start to lower myself to the ground.

"No, not there, come and sit in the car." Her arms wrap around my

waist, helping me to straighten. She guides me towards the passenger

seat with one hand and unlocks the car with the other. How she manages

to stay on her feet with me leaning most of my body weight on her is an

X-file in itself.

The backpack is stripped from my shoulders and I collapse gratefully

into the soft plush seats of the rented Taurus, my right leg still

dangling outside the door, heel resting on the ground. I've just about

reached the limit of voluntary movement, which is okay because Scully

lifts my leg for me and gently eases it into the compartment. She

reaches under me and adjusts the seat so I have more room.

"Thanks." I offer in a quiet whisper. The pain is rendering me almost

incapable of thought or speech. I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my

fingers into the upholstery then lean my head back and concentrate on

breathing. I'm not sure how long I remain like this before I become

aware of Scully moving around inside the car. She taps me on the

shoulder.

"Here, take these." Her voice is close to my ear, her breath warm

against the side of my face.

I lift an eyelid to see what she is offering me.

Pills. Tylenol no doubt. And a bottle of water. My stomach rolls

around itself, queasiness doesn't even begin to explain the sensation.

I give my head a quick shake. "I can't." I gasp out and slam my eyes

shut again.

"Do you feel nauseous, Mulder?"

"Mmm." A quick nod this time. "Can we go, please?" I'm really doing my

best not to toss my cookies but I'm not sure how much longer I'll be

successful.

Scully's hand brushes gently across my forehead then glides down my

cheek, coming to rest on my left shoulder. She gives it a quick squeeze

then settles back into the driver's seat and starts the engine.

I hunch down deeper in my seat and pray for light traffic.

End of six

A Simple Complication 7/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Garden State Parkway

5:46 p.m.

"Scully. Stop the car."

"What?"

"Now, Scully."

She does. The car swerves to the side of the road and pulls to a halt

just as I throw the passenger door open and scramble from my seat.

I stumble frantically away from the car and drop to my knees, the

tearing sensation in my thigh and subsequent agony that shoots from

groin to toes urges my stomach closer to my throat. I crawl amongst

some unsuspecting plant life and proceed to decorate the greenery with,

brown, gooey, not so healthy, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Surely there's gotta be a better way to die.

After a minute or two of violent heaving my stomach finally stops

contracting. Exhausted, I collapse onto my left side and wonder idly if

I will ever find the strength or inclination to move again.

"Mulder!" Scully squats beside me.

"They lied, Scully, there's nothing healthy about peanut butter." I

mumble as I try unsuccessfully to spit the taste from my mouth.

"Are you done? Can you make it back to the car?" She pushes my hair

back from my forehead, a routine she seems to have adopted as her own

personal ritual, performing it whenever I'm sick or injured. Not that

I'm complaining. If it were possible I'd probably get sick or hurt more

often just to have an excuse to feel her fingers threading through my

hair.

"I hope so, and I think so. Help me up." I try not to lean on her too

much, but my left leg is trembling so badly that I wonder if it will be

able to support me at all. As for the right one, I don't even bother

putting it to the ground.

"Give me a second, Scully." I lean over and suck in a couple of deep

breaths hoping to clear my head a little.

"Take as long as you need." She wraps one arm around my waist and with

her other hand she grips my wrist and secures in place the arm I have

draped across her shoulder.

"Okay, I'm ready." We stagger like a couple of drunks back to the car.

A passing motorist gives a long, enthusiastic blast of his horn in

appreciation of our side show. Nice to know the general public can find

something amusing in my hour of need.

Scully helps me to get seated again, and this time when she offers me

the pain meds and the water I accept. My stomach feels much better

after losing lunch, which makes up for the solid, resounding ache in my

leg.

"Mulder..." Scully waits till I finish drinking so she has my undivided

attention.

"I think we should swing past the ER on our way back to the motel." She

doesn't elaborate or try to dazzle me with technical doctor reasoning as

to why we should do this, instead she just looks at me. Imploring. A

worried frown creasing her brow.

I want to tell her yes, but what would be the point? They're only going

to diagnose the obvious and Scully has already done that. A bruised or

torn muscle, whatever. Rest and ice it. I can do that without visiting

a hospital. So, rather than hurt her feelings or get into a pointless

argument, I opt instead to dazzle *her*, with some good ol' Mulder

reverse phsychology.

"Scully, can I be honest with you?" A myriad of expressions pass across

her face before she settles on a look of shocked surprise.

"Go ahead," she coaxes.

"I really don't feel up to sitting in a crowded ER right now. My leg is

killing me, my mouth tastes like rotten peanuts, and...please, Scully,

can we just go back to the motel?" I conveniently forget to mention the

part about wanting to try and contact Dr Diamond at the Smithsonian,

hoping to get his opinion on the bones, the lair and the general

validity of my 'feral child' theory.

"You must be feeling bad, Mulder if you're willing to admit it to me.

I'll tell you what; we'll go back to the motel, you rest and ice your

leg for the next couple of hours and if you can get through that without

any more major catastrophes - because there sure as hell have been

enough of those for one day- we'll skip the ER for the time being."

"You got yourself a deal, Scully." I dig deep and offer her my

all-American boyish grin which ends in a grimace as I inadvertently move

my leg the wrong way, sending a sharp pain through my thigh.

"Hmmm. Why do I feel like I've just been had? That was too easy,

Mulder," she frowns at me suspiciously.

"Trust..."

"Don't say it. I don't want to hear the 'T' word any more this weekend

either." She pauses, then gives me a serious look. "You gonna be

okay?"

How does she do this? One minute treating me like an out of control two

year old, the next speaking to me as if my health and welfare are the

most important things in her life. The soft, caring note she injects

into her voice cuts straight to my heart, stripping the outer layers of

flippancy I usually hide behind, making me feel as if all my emotions

are being laid bare before her. It scares me; the way a simple display

of affection from Scully can evoke such a strong feeling of

vulnerability in me.

"Mulder?"

"I'll be fine, Scully." And I will too, as soon as the pain meds kick

in everything should be just wonderful.

She rubs her hand along my arm, then sparks the engine into life and

carefully pulls out to join the stream of traffic.

I hunker down in my seat and wait for some Tylenol-induced relief.

"Mulder."

"Mmmmm."

"Mulder, come on, we're here."

"No. I'm fine, leamme alone."

"Mulder, wake up!"

"Mmmm, five more minutes...OW! Shit! What the...?"

"Sorry, Mulder, it's the only way I could get you to wake up. We're

here. You fell asleep."

"Well, now that you've got my attention; what the hell did you do to

me?" I ask rubbing my arm and making sure she sees how unimpressed I am

with her bedside manner.

"It was just a little pinch, don't be such a baby. Do you need some

help getting out?" She asks the question as she pushes her door open.

How the hell should I know, I just woke up. I push my own door ajar and

move to get out of the passenger seat. So far so good. I lever myself

upright and wait.

Oh yeah. I'm gonna need help. As soon as I stand my leg throbs,

gradually increasing until I begin to feel the nausea return and a

slight shift in focus as the motel starts to shimmer and twist from side

to side. I close my eyes and hold tight to the roof of the car with one

hand and the passenger door with the other.

"I guess the answer is yes." Scully is at my side prying my fingers

from the car door and guiding my arm across her shoulders. I take

comfort in the thought that I am saving her a fortune in gym fees.

After this weekend she'll never have to work out again.

The nausea increases as the sickly smell of disinfectant and cheap

cover-up chemicals permeate throughout the motel room. At least the bed

is made, and with a bit of luck, fresh towels are part of the package.

"Sit, Mulder." Scully pauses and points meaningfully at the bed.

"Would you like me to roll over and play dead too?" I ask quietly.

"I think you've done enough of that for one day." She mumbles under her

breath.

"What was that, Scully?"

She gives me approximately half a second of her time before dismissing

my comment out of hand and focusing on a new task. Her eyes zero in on

the bathroom and she strides purposefully in that direction,

disappearing inside for a minute before re-emerging with a clean towel

draped over her arm. She switches her attention to the closet, hauls

the door open and pulls down two spare pillows.

"Lie back," she orders as she tosses her bounty onto the bed beside me.

This is a woman on a mission and I decide to do as I'm told.

"Okay, let's get your pants off." Hmmm, this doesn't exactly fit the

scenario I've played through my mind over and over again during those

long, sleepless nights on my couch. I always imagined something a

little more romantic when Scully finally got round to asking me to

remove my pants.

She notes my hesitation.

"Rest, ice, elevation. You don't expect me to ice your leg through your

jeans do you?" We're back to the 'stop-acting-like-a-two-year-old' tone

again.

"You know, Scully, it's probably a good thing you decided on forensic

medicine because sometimes your bedside manner leaves a lot to be

desired." I pull at my belt buckle as she moves towards the door.

"I'll be back in a minute, Mulder, I'm want to see if I can find an ice

machine." And with that statement she is gone, leaving the tacky lace

curtain wafting in the breeze as she pulls the door behind her.

Once Scully is out the door I ignore my belt and think about sitting

up. The thought also occurs to me that in order to remove my pants I'm

going to have to eventually get to my feet. And while the pain has

dropped to a managable level since taking the last dose of Tylenol, I

really don't have the energy to move. I wonder instead how I am going

to convince Scully to put a call through to Dr Diamond.

I check my watch; 8:30 p.m., probably a bit late to catch him at the

Smithsonian, I wonder if Scully has his home number? If she can run

some tests on the bones tomorrow, verify the markings are indeed made by

human teeth, then we are one step closer to having some hard evidence to

back up my theory. But...now that Thompson knows I'm onto him, time is

our enemy. I'm pretty damn sure he'll be moving quickly to get rid of

all traces of the kid's existence.

Where did Scully put our backpacks? Sitting up slowly, I scan the room

in search of them. There. By the door. I swing my legs over the side

of the bed and ease myself up. The quiet thud in my thigh increases in

intensity, but the need to make sure the bone fragments are still safely

tucked inside the backpacks, overrides the pain. Taking slow, careful

steps I limp my way over to the door and reach for the pack, my hand

hovering inches from the object of my desire when the door swings open,

nearly clocking me across the head. I jump back in surprise, wrenching

my leg and falling flat on my ass.

Shit!

"Mulder! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Through watery eyes I manage to make out the unhappy face of my

partner. Icy blue daggers stare out at me from under heavily armed

eyebrows.

If my leg wasn't hurting me so badly I might have found this situation

amusing. But to add insult to injury my butt is now aching where it

impacted with the less than adequately padded floor covering.

"Mulder? I asked what you are doing."

"Nothing!" I snap. If she's gonna keep talking to me like a two year

old then I'm going to start acting like one. I'm sick and tired of

being in pain, and I'm sick and tired of being restricted by that pain.

Feeling more than a little sorry for myself I slump back against the

threadbare carpet and close my eyes, only to be rudely reminded of the

bump on the back of my head.

"OW! Shit! Goddammit!"

Sounds of soft laughter start to filter through my bout of self-pity.

The little chuckles gradually building in cresendo until they become a

full fit of giggles.

I force my eyes open.

"Well, I'm glad you find something funny in all of this, Scully."

"I'm...I'm...sorry...Mulder." Oh yeah, she sounds really sorry.

I roll over onto all fours and make an effort to get back on my feet.

"Here...let me...help you." Scully chokes out in between gasps of

laughter.

"I'm fine. I can do it myself." And I shake her hand off my arm to

prove it. Ignoring any further offers of assistance from Scully, I grit

my teeth and limp painfully back to the bed, slumping awkwardly onto the

lumpy mattress.

"Mulder? I am sorry. It's just...it's just..." A soft snort escapes

before she can finish the sentence. "I'm sorry."

I don't answer her.

"I found an ice machine. Let's see if we can get the swelling down and

make you a little more comfortable."

I continue with the silent treatment as she squats by my feet and starts

to untie my shoe laces.

"Mulder? Why do you think Captain Thompson behaved the way he did?

Don't you think it was a little extreme, even for him?"

"I've been thinking about that myself, Scully. Ah!...Shit!" Pain

rivets up my leg as Scully tugs the boot from my right foot.

"Here, lay back on the bed." She pushes my shoulders down and helps me

get straightened out on the mattress, moving to my feet and pulling my

socks off.

"Thanks." I give her a half smile, my earlier anger at being the butt

of her mirth quickly subsiding.

"So, what about Thompson? What do you think was the real motive behind

his actions?"

"I still believe his main concern is to get rid of the kid by the most

expedient means possible. The simplest... the simplest...um...Scully,

what are you doing?" Her hands glide up my leg and start working at my

belt buckle.

"You better let me do that, " I say, gently prying her hands away, "or

you might find you get a little more than you bargained for."

As the full meaning of my words hit home, I notice a rather becoming

pink tinge start to creep across her cheeks. She nods at me and mouths

the word 'sorry.'

I work the belt loose while Scully pours ice into a plastic bag.

"I'm beginning to think that Thompson might be a little more closely

involved with the gambling community than just your regular 'cop

protecting the casino trade' routine."

"You think Thompson's on their pay roll? Lift your hips." Scully

slides my jeans down to my ankles then gently tugs them off and tosses

them onto a nearby chair.

"Maybe. It might explain his behaviour, why he was so hell-bent on

keeping us away from where the hikers were killed."

"That or he just hates you, Mulder." She lightens her words with a

smile.

"Well he wouldn't be the first local law enforcement officer campaigning

to be president of the 'Anti Mulder' fan club." I give her a wry smile

of my own. "It doesn't matter what the real motive is, Scully.

Thompson wants us out of his hair, and if he doesn't want us around,

then as far as I'm concerned, that's all the more reason to stay."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm, what?"

"You've got a lot of swelling, Mulder. No wonder you had pins and

needles. How does your foot feel now?"

I wiggle my toes to check it out. "Okay, I guess. A little tingly

maybe."

She pulls at the strapping on my thigh. "Lift your leg a little."

I carefully pull my knee up and Scully unwraps the bandage, laying it

beside her on the bed. Her brow creases in thought as she stares at my

leg.

"I don't like the look of this. Maybe we should have stopped by the

emergency room." Her finger tips trace a tickly trail from knee to

groin, pressing lightly on the place where the bat connected with my

thigh. I grit my teeth in an effort to keep myself from leaping off the

bed.

"Is that hurting you?" Your powers of observation blow me away

sometimes, Scully.

"Uh-huh."

"Hmmm." She continues to rub her hand lightly up and down my thigh.

Marvin shifts nervously as her hand creeps closer to my groin.

"Pass me that pillow."

"What?"

"The one you're not using, give it to me."

Who says I'm not using it?

Reluctantly I give up the second pillow under my head. She pulls off

the cover then places it-along with the earlier gathered spares from

the closet-under my leg. I have to admit the support of the pillows

helps the pain to recede a bit. After wrapping the plastic bag of ice

in the previously discarded pillow case, she carefully places it along

my thigh. Tiny rivulets of icy condensation run down my leg and creep

under my boxers. Marvin rears back in fear as the freezing droplets

pool around very sensitive parts of my anatomy.

"Hows that, Mulder?"

"Cold," I answer honestly.

"It's supposed to be. We need to get the swelling down." I don't know

if it's working on my leg, but Marvin the Martian has certainly lost any

dellusions of grandeur he might have had just after Scully began

caress...I mean, examining my leg.

Scully scoots closer along the bed so she's sitting by my chest, then

reaches up and trails her hand across my brow. Her fingers are cool

after handling the ice. Nice. I close my eyes and relax under her

touch.

"Why don't you get some rest, Mulder. I'll go and see about fixing us

some dinner."

"You buying?" I mumble sleepily.

"I'm buying. What do you feel like?" Her hand caresses the side of my

face, then moves back to my forehead, fingers twirling lightly through

my hair. I wonder what I did to deserve this little display of tender

loving care.

"Mmmm. I dunno. You choose. Nothing with peanuts. Don't want

peanuts." I feel the bed shake slightly as Scully lets out a soft

chuckle.

"Something light on your stomach might be best," she offers. "I'll see

what I can find. And I promise, no peanuts."

Her hand leaves my face and I grumble quietly at the loss of contact.

"Rest, Mulder. I'll be back soon."

"Mmmhmm." Her last act of kindness before she leaves is to drape the

towel across my lap, damming the the icy stream of water trickling

steadily towards my nether regions, and saving Marvin from an unwanted

soaking.

Oh Christ!

How long are they gonna leave me lying here? GET IT OFF! Get this damn

bovine off my leg! It's crushing me! Why the hell aren't they doing

anything? Someone must be there. The whole damn township of Kroner

would have heard the oversized, under-done pot roast come crashing

through my roof. Hell, they probably heard it all the way across

Kansas.

SCULLEEE? Where is she?

My leg hurts, Scully. Can't feel my foot. HELP ME!

Icy rain pours through the gaping whole in the roof. Gathering around my

hips. Wetting my clothes. Freezing my ass off. GET THE GODDAMN ANIMAL

OFF ME!

Hurts. Hurts. Gotta move. I try and drag my leg from under it. Pain

shoots through my thigh. I scream. I know it's me, the sound

reverberates though my throat, my ears, my head.

"NOOOO!"

Huh? Where am I? There's no cow and there's no rain. Then why the

hell am I lying in a puddle of water? And why the hell does my leg feel

as if the damn cow is still sitting on it?

Ah yes. Of course. It's all coming back to me. The day from hell.

I lift the wet, soggy, suspiciously light, bag of ice off my leg. The

nice white, *dry* towel of earlier is now a saturated mess of terry

cloth still draped thoughtfully across my lap, soaking its wet, sodden

contents into my boxer shorts. Well, that explains the puddle of water.

And where's Scully?

I check my watch. 9:30 p.m. I managed to make all this mess in just 20

minutes? Man, I'm good. I can just hear Scully's less than subtle

comments when she returns to find me lying here in wet boxers. No thank

you! It's time for action. Now, where the hell did I put my overnight

bag?

Aha! Over there by the closet.

I ease myself up and carefully swing my legs over the side of the bed,

feeling the sheets squelch with my shift of weight.

A little twinge in my thigh reminds me that movement is something to be

done only when necessary and then, with great care. Tough cookies!

Marvin the Martian clinging to my hips in a wet, soggy embrace tells me

this particular movement is more than just necessary. It's essential.

So, slowly I stand. And wait. And, oh, Fuck! The pain slams into me

from all directions, totally engulfing my leg from toes to hip. The

room tilts dangerously to one side, the ugly lace curtain undulates

backwards and forwards.

My stomach twists in on itself and very vivid images of peanut butter

and jelly sandwiches play through my mind which is enough for my stomach

to lurch in rebellion. But there is no way I am gonna make it to the

bathroom. No way in the wide, wide world. My arms flail wildly, tying

to stop the inevitable descent to the floor, but in my less than

coordinated state, I manage to latch onto absolutely nothing and hit the

floor with a resounding THUD!

Oh, crap!

End of part 7

A Simple Complication 8/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Lucky Stars Motel

9:38 p.m.

Time distorts unfathomably. Lying on the ground, gasping like a beached

whale, time simply ceases to have any meaning for me. My world exists

on a very narrow plane. Intense pain, and fighting for air. The

unintentional trip to the floor has knocked the wind out of me, and it's

taking every ounce of energy I have just to draw breath.

With my head buzzing from lack of oxygen, I continue to lie on the

stained, stinking carpet, wrestling with the need to throw up, and

trying to concentrate around the solid, unending ache in my leg.

Finally, I manage to suck in some air. This helps clear my head a

little, but the nausea hangs in there, as determined as ever.

I think I hear someone groan. Given that I'm the only one here, it must

be me. And I don't care. I'm past caring. I'm hurting, and right now

all I want to do is stay on the floor and wallow in self pity.

"Mulder!"

Scully. Thank God.

"Dammit, Mulder, I can't leave you alone for a second."

"Scul..." I choke on her name when another wave of pain rolls over me.

"Oh, Mulder."

"Sculleee," I moan at her. I no longer care about stoicism. I no

longer care about a brave front. All I care about is some kind of

relief, and at the moment, Scully is the best chance I've got.

"What happened? Did you hit your head?"

"No...don't think so. My leg."

She kneels beside me "Cramp?"

"I don't...know. No, no...I don't think...so. It's aching...hurts."

"Dammit. I should have insisted on taking you to the emergency room

this afternoon. I can't believe I let you talk me out of it." She

leaves my side and searches her pockets. Finding her cell phone, she

punches in a number.

"Who are you calling?"

"911."

This time I don't argue.

I half listen to her speaking to the operator, supplying details of our

location and a brief rundown of the situation. Which is me.

She returns to the floor beside me.

"Scuuu...aaarrgh. Shiiit." I bite back a groan.

"Sssh, Mulder, it's okay, I know you're in pain. Help is on the way.

Let me take a look at your leg. Can you lie back a bit for me?" I'm

flat out on the floor, how much further back does she want me to be?

Her soft, cool hands clasp mine and remove them from my thigh. Then, I

realise I'm not flat at all, but rather, curled up in a tight ball. She

eases me over so I'm facing the ceiling and carefully straightens my leg

out. Her hands rest lightly behind my knee, then travel to my foot. I

think I hear a gasp, and this time it's not me.

"What is it, Scully?"

"Nothing, Mulder. Just try and relax." She smoothes the imaginary hair

from my brow. Maybe it's a nervous tick-thing that she has, but,

whatever it is, I'm glad she does it.

The muscle in my leg squeezes tight again, and I start to roll over to

my side, groaning my misery into the room.

"Come on, partner, just try and breathe through the pain." She moves

her hand to my groin. Marvin doesn't even notice. She presses down

lightly, near my hip, then works her hand slowly down towards my knee.

Which is all very well until she happens to press on the point of

impact. Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, I lift my arm and

smack her hand away. Hard.

"Oh, God. Sorry...didn't mean...to hit you."

"It's all right. I'm not hurt. I guess I found the sore spot." She

smiles apologetically at me.

"Yeah, you could...arghhh." A knife-like pain slices through my thigh.

"Christ, Scully...I'm...not sure...how much...more of this...I can

take."

"Mulder, describe the pain for me." She places her hand under my jaw

and turns my head so I'm looking at her.

"Bad."

"I know that, I know." Her tone is soft and gentle as her hand sweeps

across my forehead. "I mean, is it sharp? Dull? Intermittent?"

"I dunno...it's...just there. Kinda like...a migraine...but...in my

leg, only worse. Like it's being crushed from the inside out."

"Do you feel sick, nauseous?"

"Mmm. Was before. Not so much now."

I close my eyes for a second and release a slow breath, enjoying a

slight reprieve as the pain subsides a little.

And then a thought occurs to me. The reason I'm splayed out on the

floor in the first place.

"Scully, I'm wet."

"Sorry?"

"My...uh...underwear, it's wet." I nod in the direction of Marvin.

Scully's face fills with a look of shock, followed by pure pity.

"Were you on your way to the bathroom?" She doesn't exactly say, 'you

poor dear', but I hear it in her voice.

"Uh, huh."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. I should have thought before I left. Why

didn't you tell me you needed to pee?"

Pee?

"No. I didn't *pee* myself. The damn ice melted!"

"Oh."

"Could you find me some dry shorts, please?" I start to push myself off

the floor.

"No, Mulder, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be moving

around. You can change later, at the hospital."

It's not until she says I shouldn't move around that I notice something

strange about Scully. Something she doesn't usually show. She's

worried. Every line, every crease on her face is screaming a message,

broadcasting in no uncertain terms that she is *really* concerned.

And now, so am I.

"AAARGH" The pain hits again, this time radiating down to my calf. I

try to grab at my leg but Scully is holding me down. Somewhere in the

background I think I hear sirens.

"Hang on, Mulder, I'll be right back." I clutch at her hand. "It's

okay. I'm just going to open the door for the paramedics. Help is

here."

I lie back against the hard floor and close my eyes. With Scully no

longer restraining me, I roll onto my side and hold my leg. An

undulating throb alternates between my calf and thigh. The nausea

increases a notch with each new thud of pain. I groan helplessly into

the uncaring, tattered carpet.

Voices fill the room.

"...I found him on the floor about 15 minutes ago. He's in severe pain,

nauseous, I don't think he hit his head."

Polite noises of 'Uh-huh and 'yes ma'am,' respond to Scully's

explanation.

I open my eyes. Two men in paramedics uniform, carrying a shit-load of

gear and pulling a gurney. Scully continues her rundown on my

condition.

One of the guys leans over near my head. "Hello, Mr Mulder, my name's

Chris and this is Dave," he nods to the other man, "we're going to try

and make you feel more comfortable, okay?"

I nod and try not to whimper.

Dave dumps his equipment on the floor then starts setting up some kind

of radio.

"Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"Leg. Started in my...aargh...shit..." Respite is over.

"Okay, just relax. I want you to tell me: on a scale of one to ten, ten

being the worst pain, how would you rate the level of pain you are

experiencing?"

"Twelve!" I gasp out.

I feel myself beginning to fade and a faint ringing starts in my ears.

My breath catches in my chest as my stomach tries desperately to find an

exit from my body.

"Feel sick," I mutter. My stomach heaves. But there's nothing to bring

up. Just a painful retching that feels like I'm being ripped in two.

Someone starts rubbing my shoulder. I'd know that touch anywhere.

"Scully...what's wrong...with me?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." Something about her voice

sounds different. I force my eyes open to look at her. She has tears

glistening around the edges of her lashes.

"Scully." I whisper to her.

Dave's voice cuts into the room. "Patient is white male, late 30's,

complaining of severe pain in right leg associated with an injury

received approximately 36 hours ago. He's down and vomiting. Standby

for vitals."

Chris appears by my side and wraps a BP cuff around my arm and pumps it

tight, waiting a few seconds before releasing the pressure. "BP's 140

over 80."

Another agonising wave of pain clenches my thigh. "Arrgh, shit."

Chris pats me on the shoulder, then picks up my left wrist,

concentrating. He stares at his watch for a minute or so. "Pulse

115." He pauses, watching my chest intently. "Respirations 35."

Dave repeats the figures through the radio handset.

I can feel my breathing quicken, and my chest tighten as I try to suck

more air in. I grab at my t-shirt, seeking relief.

"Mr. Mulder, are you experiencing chest pain?"

"Uh. No, not...really... feels tight...when I breathe."

I catch a quick glimpse of his face before he disappears from view. He

doesn't look happy.

"Mulder, you're hyperventilating. You need to slow your breathing

down. Can you do that for me?" Scully. By my side, running her

fingers through my hair. Feels good. I try to slow down. For her, I

know I can do it.

Until another spasm of pain rips through my leg and I gasp, sending any

thoughts of controlled breathing right outside the realm of extreme

possibility.

My breath catches in my throat, refusing to enter my lungs. I try to

roll over and clutch at my leg, but small hands are pushing my shoulders

back, forcing me to lay flat.

"Agent Scully, we're going to set up a monitor, I'll need some help

getting his shirt off."

"Sure."

Together Chris and Scully manage to pull my t-shirt over my head. A

minute later Chris has several plastic pads stuck to my chest and

shoulders. Above the sharp rasping of my breathing, I hear the

reassuring 'beep, beep' of the heart monitor. At least that proves I'm

alive, even though I feel like I've died and gone to hell.

"Sinus tachycardia on the monitor." Chris recites to Dave. I hear Dave

echo it back into the radio.

Scully picks up my hand and draws little circles across the back,

zig-zagging around my knuckles. "Hey, G-Man. How are you doing?"

"Leg...hurts."

"I know, partner. The paramedics will give you something for the pain

as soon as they can assess what's wrong. The medication might mask the

symptoms and they won't be able to make a definitive diagnosis." She

turns to Chris, then Dave, seeking confirmation.

"We're working on it, Agent Scully. As soon as we get a handle on this

we'll give him something. Is he allergic to any drugs?" Chris asks.

"No."

Chris disappears again, heading over to consult with Dave.

"It's going to be okay, Mulder. These guys carry the really good

drugs." She's forcing herself to be cheerful, but I recognise

'Scullyconcern' when I hear it.

"Chris, the Doc says to start an IV, D5 half normal saline. Run it at

50cc per hour till we get to the ER." Dave calls out.

Chris is back by my side.

The acidic smell of rubbing alcohol fills my nostrils and I feel

something cold and wet on the back of my left hand.

"Mr. Mulder, you're just going to feel a little stick."

And that's all the warning he gives me before plunging the mother of all

needles into my vein. Obviously this guy has lost all touch with

reality as far as needle size is concerned.

"I need to ask you some questions about what happened. Are you up to

answering?" Chris asks as he fiddles around with the IV needle and sets

up the drip.

"Mmm-hmm." I nod my head.

Scully squeezes my right hand briefly before taking up position behind

Chris, allowing him to move a little closer so he can hear me better.

"Your partner tells me you were hit with a baseball bat. Is that

right?"

"Not...hit. It... jammed into... my leg."

"Did you hear any sounds on impact. Any cracking?"

"No. Not...bone. Muscle. Bruised...the muscle."

He lightly runs his hands over the top of my leg and down the side.

"There's a lot of swelling. Has it been like this all along or is this

just recent?"

"Don't know. Scully said...it was swollen...earlier."

"Did the bat connect with your thigh *and* calf muscle?"

"Thigh. Just the thigh. Oh, God..." The squeezing starts again. I

groan unabashedly and try to roll over.

"I'm sorry, Mr Mulder, just a few more questions. Has the pain been

constant? Or does it come and go?"

"Pretty much...constant. Tylenol helped...a bit."

"How many Tylenol have you taken over the last 24 hours?"

"Not sure. Lost count. Maybe...ten, something like that."

"Mulder!" Scully's shocked whisper reaches me from behind Chris.

"Has the pain gotten worse or stayed about the same since you were first

hit?"

"Worse."

"Okay. You take it easy, I'm just going to have a look at your leg."

"'kay."

He moves to the side of my leg, palpating the area around my groin. I

think to myself: this is probably more the scenario my mother had in

mind when warning me about clean underwear. And here I am, in wet

boxers. She'd be so disappointed in me.

Chris seems to linger a little longer by my groin than I consider

comfortable, before moving his hands to the back of my knee. He casts a

quick glance up at his partner then he makes his way down to my foot.

Pressing lightly on the top, and concentrating.

"He's been complaining of pins and needles in his foot," Scully pipes up

from behind Chris.

"Uh-huh." Chris says, non-committedly, before moving back near my head.

"Mr, Mulder, I'm going to perform a test. It should confirm at least

part of what I suspect the problem is, then we can give you something to

relieve the pain. This may hurt a bit. Are you okay with that?"

Could it be any more painful than what I'm going through now? I don't

think so.

"Go...for it." The pain is building again and that woozy feeling is

coming back.

"Agent, Scully? You might like to sit by him, hold his hand."

I watch Scully's features tense up, and I don't like her expression.

She's a doctor, she must have some idea of what I'm in store for.

"Hey, G-man, if it gets too bad, just squeeze my hand. I'll be right

here."

Well, these medical people really know how to instil a sense of

well-being in a guy.

I take Scully's hand in mine. Chris is back by my feet. "Ready? Left

leg first." You'd think I was about to face the firing squad the way

they're acting.

I nod my agreement. Chris grips my toes and pushes them towards my

knee.

Yeah? So? What's all the fuss about? That didn't hurt at all.

Then he moves to my right foot and does the same.

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRHG! FUCKING HELL! STOP! STOP!" I kick out with

my left leg, trying to get him away. He must've been expecting it

because he ducks swiftly to the side to avoid being hit.

"Positive Homan's on the right leg." Chris states as I try to get

myself under control.

I collapse back against the floor, whimpering, cold sweat running down

the side of my face and Scully's hand wrung tightly in mine. She traces

the fingers of her other hand across my brow, apologising. As if it was

her fault.

"Shh. It's finished now. It's okay." She pulls my hand to her lips

and lightly kisses my fingers. I watch her rise and beckon to Chris,

asking him to accompany her to the corner of the room.

"What did the Doc say about pain relief?" Chris asks Dave.

Way to go Chris!

"Stand by" I hear Dave relay the question back to the hospital and in a

few seconds the answer I've been so desperately waiting for floats

across the room to me.

"Morphine, 4 mgs IV push."

"Agent Scully, give me a minute to administer the pain meds and I'll be

right with you."

Chris-the-paramedic just morphed into Chris-my-best-buddy.

"You're going to feel a lot better now," Chris assures me as he

prepares the pain killer.

"Urmm." I grunt, hoping he's as good as his word.

A cold, yet burning sensation creeps up my arm, within seconds every

muscle in body relaxes and I stare gratefully up at Chris. My thoughts

turn to the interesting and intricate patterns made by the brown and

gray splotches scattered across the ceiling. I roll my eyes to the left

and become immediately transfixed by the beautiful, swirling, purple

lace curtain, wondering idly whether the manager might be able to get me

one for my apartment.

I run my tongue around my lips, then explore the inside of my mouth,

trying to remember if teeth are supposed to feel furry or not. Don't

really care. Life's pretty good right now.

Faint voices float across the room to me. Chris has left my side and

joined forces with Scully across the room. I wonder what they're

talking about?

For about 3 seconds.

Then another interesting thought pops into my head: wonder what the

score was between the Yankees and the Astros last night? Wonder how

Jeff Davies feels about having an asshole like Thompson as a

brother-in-law And I wonder about the story behind the pink stain on

the carpet six inches from my right ear.

I try and tell Scully about all the interesting things in the room, but

my tongue won't form the words right.

"Mulder?" Scully is back by my side.

I stare up at her, trying to concentrate on her face.

Why is her head so big? Now so small? And big? And crooked? And...

"Scully." I mumble through big, fat lips. "Gonna be sick." Mmm, hope

she can understand me.

Too late.

I start to retch, and it only takes one heave before she's aware of

what's happening and gently rolls me onto my side. The movement sends

an unexpected wave of pain through my leg which in turn reinforces my

stomach's urgent need to expel copious amounts of nothing from within.

Eventually the heaves stop. And so does my desire to take any further

part in this 'situation.' These guys can play doctor without the

patient. I close my eyes and flop bonelessly against the floor. Enough

is enough. And a wonderful, complete, sense of oblivion flows over me.

End of part 8

A Simple Complication 9/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Atlantic City Medical Center

11.17pm

WHUMP!

"AarhOw." My leg jars painfully as the gurney is pulled from the

ambulance.

"39 year old male experiencing severe pain in right leg after injury

approximately 36 hours ago."

Heard those words before. Know that voice, too.

"He's vomiting, dehydrated. Severe cramps in right thigh and calf. No

external injuries."

Cramp. Hurts.

"Vital signs at scene: BP 140 over 80. Pulse 115. Resp 35. Lead 2

shows sinus tachycardia."

"IV D5 half normal Saline started for access, 25cc administered

initially over 30 minute period. IV now KVO."

Feel sick.

"MS 4mg administered IV push 20 minutes ago.

"Patient lost consciousness soon after at the scene but now responds to

verbal and tactile stimuli. Pupils equal and react to light."

"Mr. Mulder? Do you know where you are?" A different voice.

"Head injury approximately 8 hours ago, asymptomatic since."

"Mr. Mulder?" Hand on my shoulder.

Voices, all around me.

"Mr. Mulder, do you know where you are?"

"Um...Hell?" I find my voice.

Silence. A quiet chuckle. "Not exactly, but close."

"Do you know today's date?"

"Mm. Maybe. What...day...is it?"

"No clues, Mr Mulder, sorry."

"June something...third...I think."

"Very good, you're right on the money." I try to focus on the face

behind the voice. Too hard. It keeps changing shape.

"We're just moving you over to our stretcher, stay still, okay?"

I feel myself being lifted momentarily. A sharp burst of pain shoots

through my leg, sending my stomach rolling around itself, as I'm placed

on a different type of gurney.

"Feel...sick." I mutter to anyone who will listen.

"Do you think... Oh-Oh. He's vomiting folks. Let's roll him."

More dry heaves wrack my body, and with some help I'm turned on my

side. Nothing comes up though. When it stops, they roll me back.

"Call Respiratory and tell them we want ABGs on this patient."

"BP 130 over 70. Pulse 88. Resps 26."

"You're doing better now, Mr. Mulder." The smiley voice again.

"Better than...what? Feel like shi... Oh, no. Gonna puke." And I

start the useless exercise all over again of heaving my guts out when

there's nothing to lose.

"Roll him!"

Oh God. I was right. This is hell.

"Mr, Mulder, do you have any allergies, are you allergic to any drugs?"

"Doctor? I'm Agent Scully. Agent Mulder's partner."

Scully? I try to find her, but too many people block my view.

"Agent?"

"Yes. We're FBI. Maybe..."

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully, would you mind waiting outside. We'll have

someone come speak with you when we get Mr. Mulder stabilized."

"I'm a Forensic Pathologist and a Medical Doctor. I'll be staying right

here. Any questions that Mulder is unable to answer, I can."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't realize. And you are most welcome to

stay. I'm sure you understand, but I need to know if Mr...uh...Agent

Mulder can answer for himself."

"He's not allergic to any drugs, but if he needs surgery he does react

badly to Versed."

"Thank you. We'll make a note of it."

Scully's face hovers above mine. "Hey, partner? These guys are doing a

good job, I'm gonna step back and let them work, but I'll be right here

if you need me."

She smiles at me and I feel that painful clench in my heart again.

Then she's gone.

"Let's get him started on some Compazine. 4mg IV."

"Mr. Mulder, we're going to give you something to ease the vomiting.

You should be feeling better real soon."

"'kay."

Someone shines a light in my eyes. Then, "Track my finger."

I do. I think.

"Did he lose consciousness after the head injury? Agent Scully, do you

know?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Good, thankyou."

A nurse sidles up to my bed, trying to get my attention. "Mr Mulder,

I'm just going to draw some blood. You'll feel a stick in your wrist,

it might hurt a bit, but it will be over quickly."

I try and pull my hand away. The last time someone told me it might

hurt a bit, it hurt a lot. I'm not so trusting this time. My wrist is

held tight and I pull a little harder. "No...no...let me go."

"Let's get his partner over here. It might help if he has a familiar

face with him."

Scully. Yes, get Scully. She'll stop them.

"Hey, Mulder. Shhhhh." I feel her warm breath on my cheek as she

speaks quietly into my ear.

"No more...needles, Scully."

"They need to check the oxygen level in your blood. The only way they

can do that is by getting the blood from an artery. I'm not going to

lie to you, Mulder. It will hurt when the needle goes in, but it will

only be for a second. Okay? I'll be right here with you. I promise."

"Mm. Okay. You stay."

"Always, partner." She trails her hand lightly down the side of my

cheek. Then gives my shoulder a squeeze.

"Ready, Mr. Mulder?"

"Yeah."

Scully was right. It feels like a spear sticking into me, digging deep

into my wrist.

Some kind of pad is placed over the needle puncture, held down firmly.

Hurts. "Agent Scully, would you mind keeping pressure on this, you'll

need to hold it there for about 5 minutes." The smiley voice again, I'm

beginning to like that voice. As soon as I can get my eyes to focus

properly I'm going to put a face to it.

I feel Scully shift as she takes over from the nurse.

A horribly familiar pain squeezes at my leg. And again. I try and get

comfortable but can't move.

"Switching monitors. Sinus rhythm a little tachy."

"Let's up his IV to 100c."

"Done."

"Femoral and popliteal pulses strong on both legs. Pedal pulse a little

weak on the right."

"Temp's 101.1"

"Where's that fever coming from?" One of the voices mumbles quietly.

Doctors, nurses. Their voices volley across the room.

"Are you having any chest pain? Difficulty breathing?"

"Uh-uh. Not...right now."

"Good, you let me know if you do, okay?"

"Mmm." I think I nod.

My leg gives me another quick reminder that it needs some attention.

The muscle starts to contract along my thigh.

"Mmrrrrm." I groan, but I can't move, can't reach my leg.

"Mr. Mulder, are you able to urinate for us?"

Urinate? What the hell for?

My boxers are removed and a sheet is draped across my waist. Then,

something else, something suspiciously plastic, is placed against me,

confirming all my fears that I have somehow died and ended up in hell.

I wonder vaguely if Scully is getting a good look at this.

"Can't. Don't need to pee." I try and push it away.

"Okay, that's fine, maybe later." The bottle is removed.

The sheet is pushed away from my thigh and someone starts pressing on my

leg, just near the hip.

"Tell me where this hurts, Mr Mulder."

The hands move lower towards my thigh. To where Cantlon hit me with the

bat. I can feel my breathing start to quicken. No...don't go there.

Hurts down there. Then...

"AAArgh!" The hands disappear.

Then reappear on my foot. Against my toes.

Nononnono. Not that.

They push my foot up towards my knee.

"AAARRRRGH. NO! DON'T!" My head pounds and my vision blurs.

"Okay Mr. Mulder, we won't do that again for awhile."

I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that tears leak from the corners and a

pathetic whimper escapes from my throat.

"Shh, Mulder. You're gonna be okay." Scully is at my side and does a

double sweep of my hair, with both hands this time. "No more tests that

hurt."

"Scully. You promised...the good stuff."

"You had some already, remember?"

"Didn't work. Still hurts."

I hear the doctors at it again. Issuing orders. "Let's get a portable

chest X-ray, CBC, a chem-12, PT, PTT, urine. Get the vascular lab here

for a portable venous doppler, CT of his head and cervical spine. And

lets get a CT of that right leg, too."

"Scully? What are they...doing?"

"They just need to run a few more tests. I promise, none of them are

going to hurt. You've been through the worst."

"Mr. Mulder, can you squeeze my hands? Good and tight."

I'd rather squeeze his neck after that last test.

"Nice. Now, can you wriggle your toes?"

Tentatively, I make the toes on both feet wriggle back and forth.

"Good."

The doctor turns to address his 'partners-in-crime', and issues more

orders.

"Let's get another IV started. Heparin, 1000 Units per hour, after a

loading dose of 5000 Units IV push. Start that after the blood is

drawn."

"Scully." I gasp at my partner, feeling my breathing start to quicken

again. "It's coming back." I try to shift position on the gurney.

"Mulder?"

"The...pain...it's coming back." I squeeze the small hand nestled in

mine and grit my teeth.

"Doctor!" Scully calls him over.

He takes one look at me and figures it out, but feels the need to ask

the question any way.

"Are you having pain, Mr Mulder?"

"Uh-huh...yeah." I nod.

"Where is it located?"

"Leg." I gasp out.

"Let's give him another 5mg of MS IV push, okay?" He calls out to the

room full of people, then turns back to me. "You should be feeling

better soon, sir."

Thank God. I knew there was a good man hiding in there somewhere.

"As soon as we run these other tests we'll get you admitted and find you

a room. Shouldn't be long now."

A nurse appears by my side with a needle in her hand. She injects it

into the IV port and immediately that wonderful pain-free euphoria

washes over me. I smile my thanks up at her blurry head.

"Thank you." I sigh as she floats away.

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

"You should try some of this stuff. It's really very good. Feel a bit

sleepy though." I struggle to keep my eyes open. Can't sleep yet.

Still more to say.

"Just relax, Mulder. Get some rest." She strokes my cheek, and I have

to fight harder to stay awake.

"You too, Scully. You...should sleep...too. Been...carrying me...all

day. Must be tired."

"I'm fine, partner. I'll get some sleep later. When you're settled."

"'kay, Scully. Make sure...you do."

"Sleep, Mulder."

"Mmmm. G'night."

Atlantic City Medical Center

Treatment Room

1.03am

"Mulder?" A hand, shaking my shoulder.

"Mr. Mulder?"

I hear the voices but can't reach them.

A sharp pain pinches my ear.

"Ah. Ow. Lemme alone."

A light shines in my eyes. I squeeze them shut. Then try to push them

open. Can't. Heavy.

"Come on, Mr. Mulder, wake up." Hands slapping my cheeks.

I force my eyelids up. Blinking.

"Ah, there you are. Welcome back." I see a head swimming above me.

And another. A red halo frames the second one.

"Where..." My voice gets stuck in my throat. I try to swallow. Tongue

feels fat and dry.

Hands under my head, lifting. A plastic straw in my mouth. "Just a sip,

Mulder. Easy now."

I just get started when the cup disappears.

"More." I grunt.

"If you keep this down, you can have some more later."

I flop back against the pillow. And put a little more effort into

remaining awake.

My surroundings gradually become clearer. Scully standing on one side

of me, a nurse on the other.

"Where...am I?"

"You're in the Atlantic City Medical Center," Scully answers me.

Tubes. Wires.

I look like I'm hooked up to every medical invention known to man.

"What happened to me?"

A worried look passes between the nurse and Scully."

"You don't remember?"

"I...I remember bits and pieces. Back in the motel. My boxers were

wet. I was going to the bathroom...to change them. That's my last

clear thought."

"Mulder. I found you lying on the floor. You were in terrible pain."

I close my eyes again and try and sift through the odd assortment of

images rushing through my mind.

"Oh, God. Yes. I remember. My leg. Felt like someone was chewing it

off." I look down to make sure both my legs are still attached.

"You were pretty out of it. How does your leg feel now?"

"Still aching a bit. Not as bad as before."

"That's good news, Mr Mulder. The pain meds are working." I recognise

that voice. It's not the smiley one though. "Let me know if it becomes

too uncomfortable and we'll adjust the dosage. The doctor will be along

in a minute to talk to you." The nurse scribbles something on my chart

then leaves.

"Scully, what's wrong with me?"

She picks up my hand, carefully laying the tubes to one side.

"I think that's what the doctor wants to explain to us."

"But, you're a doctor, you should have some idea."

"I do, but I haven't seen all of the test results yet, so let's wait and

see what he says."

"See what who says?" Recognise that voice too. "Ah, you've decided to

rejoin us, Mr. Mulder. That's good to see." A tall, slim man, dressed

in green scrubs enters the room. A stethoscope hangs lazily around his

neck and wire rimmed glasses frame warm, green eyes. A few strands of

gray streak his sandy, red hair. He seems to sum up my condition with a

quick flick of his eyes before reaching for the chart hanging from my

temporary bed.

"Vitals are looking good. How's the pain?"

"Bearable." I move my leg a little, wincing as a sharp pain surges

through my calf and thigh. "Hurts if I move."

"That's to be expected." He replaces the chart and looks at me

directly.

"Well, now that you're awake I'll formally introduce myself. I'm Doctor

Phil Gordon. I was the attending physician when you were first brought

in." He gives me a smile.

"Nice to meet you. I think." Something about his voice reminds me of

extreme pain.

"We've run some tests and while I'm still waiting for the final results

of some of them to come back, I have been able make a preliminary

diagnosis. What I think we're dealing with here is a Deep Vein

Thrombosis. Resulting, as a complication from your initial leg injury.

What that means, is that you have a blood clot in one of the deep veins

in your right calf."

I give Scully a quick look, checking to see if she's getting all of

this. Her frown tells me that what we are hearing is not great news.

"We've also found a small tear in the right thigh muscle, but most of

your problems are being caused by a nice big hematoma in that same

muscle. Basically, as a result of your injury, you have been bleeding

directly into the muscle and the blood has collected in one area. This

in turn has put pressure on the muscle, nerves and bone and would

account for the severe pain and the tingling sensation in your foot."

"A hematoma? A bruise? I'm in the hospital for a bruise?" I can't

believe this.

"It's a little more serious than just a bruise, Mr. Mulder. But it's

the DVT that has us most concerned. It needs to be treated

aggressively, or risk having a piece of the clot break off and travel to

your lungs, where it could do serious damage."

"He's right, Mulder. This is not to be taken lightly."

"We've started treatment, and we'll be doing everything we can to make

sure that doesn't happen." He nods to one of the bags hanging from the

IV pole. "We're running an anti-coagulant-Heparin-as a precaution to

prevent further clots forming. I should have the results of your venous

doppler back within the half hour. I expect this to confirm my

diagnosis."

"What the hell is a venous doppler?" I ask.

"It's like an ultrasound and used in much the same way. A gel is used

to facilitate the movement of an ultrasound probe over the veins of the

leg to determine if they are blocked."

I lay back against the pillow, trying to digest all this information.

How the hell could this happen?

"Compared to some of the injuries I've had, this is pretty minor. Why a

blood clot this time?"

"Basically, it's just bad luck. It's not common in men your age. It

tends to happen after surgery or long periods of immobility, like on an

airplane ride. But, a trauma to the leg, like the blow you received,

can cause a clot to form. DVTs have recently gained a lot of media

attention, where it's been referred to as 'Economy Class Syndrome'".

Bad luck. Figures. That fits in perfectly with the whole damn theme of

this weekend.

"We'll be admitting you to the hospital as soon as I get a room

organised. Once we have the nausea and vomiting under control we'll

start you on a soft diet. But for now it's clear liquids only. The

severity of the pain probably caused the vomiting. With proper pain

relief, I predict you'll be enjoying jello and pureed vegetables by

tomorrow." He grins like he's just informed me I've won the lotto

jackpot.

I fail to share his enthusiasm.

"I believe the bed rest will help your initial injury quiet down and

your pain should be minimal in a few days. I'm going to leave you for a

couple of minutes and find out how the arrangements are coming along for

a more permanent place of residence. I'll come and speak to you again

as soon as I get the final test results back."

"Thank you, Doctor." This from Scully.

"Agent Scully, there's a coffee machine just outside in the waiting

area, but I'm sure if you smile nicely at the night nurse she'll point

you in the direction of a decent brew in the staff room." He turns to

me, "Okay, you just relax, and I'll see you soon."

The doctor leaves, and Scully and I are left alone in the treatment

room.

"Well, here we are again." Scully folds her arms across her chest, dips

her chin and paints a resigned frown on her face.

"Think of it this way, Scully. Another opportunity for research. Maybe

you'll discover some new and exciting sandwich spread with even more

amazing powers than peanut butter. I hear 'Vegemite' is very popular

with our Australian friends downunder. Just look what it's done for

Steve, the 'Crocodile Hunter.'"

My commentary leaves her unmoved.

"You scared me, Mulder." She lifts her head to look at me, and for the

first time I notice the dark smudges under her eyes. "When I walked

into the motel room and found you on the floor..."

"Hey." I pull her hand from under her arm and clasp it in mine.

"Scully?"

"Mulder, you've been through so much this past year. You've been in the

hospital more times than I care to remember. How many more chances are

you going to get before...before your luck permanently runs out? Before

your body simply refuses to fight whatever disease, or injury or abuse

it's subjected to." She looks at me intently. Studying me as if she'll

see the answer to her question suddenly appear on my forehead.

"What are you saying, Scully?"

She heaves a long frustrated sigh. "I don't know what I'm saying,

Mulder. All I know is that each time I have to deal with you being sick

or hurt, each time I come close to losing you..." She chews on her lip

as if to stop herself from revealing some part of her that is not ready

to be seen. Another deep sigh before she continues. "I don't *know*

what I'm saying."

"Scully, you heard what the doctor said. What happened to me today;

it's just bad luck. It could have happened to anyone."

"But it didn't, Mulder. It happened to you. And this sort of thing

seems to be happening to you with an alarming amount of regularity."

"Scully. It's a simple complication. I had no control over it. I had

no control over what Cantlon did to me yesterday. These things happen.

It's part of the job."

She drops her chin to her chest again, and stares at our clasped hands

resting on the crisp, green, hospital sheet.

She draws a deep breath, seeming to steady herself, regaining control,

before lifting her head and smiling at me. "I guess I'm just tired,

Mulder."

"Well, you should be. You've been lugging me around most of the day."

"Good news, Mr Mulder!" Dr Gordon pushes his way through the swinging

doors and bounds into the treatment room. The only news that might

remotely resemble 'good', is if he is here to tell me that it's all been

a big mistake and I can go home.

"We're going to transfer you to a room now. We have space in our

step-down unit. It's a monitored bed so we can watch you for at least

24 hours."

And this is cause for celebration?

"Um...is everything all right in here?" He pauses and looks long and

hard at Scully and me. Confusion pulls his eyebrows into a tight frown.

"Everything's fine. What did the tests show?" Scully gives my hand a

quick squeeze before releasing it and stepping towards the doctor.

"Okay. So far the tests confirm my diagnosis. The venous doppler shows

a clot in your right calf with lots of inflamation in the vein. That's

why it hurt so much with the Homan's sign. We stretched your muscle and

vein." I squirm uneasily on the gurney as I remember the pure agony

inflicted on me earlier. My leg takes up a defensive throb at the

memory.

"Your chest X-ray and EKG were fine, as were your CAT scans. The good

news is that we are only dealing with the muscle injury and DVT. No

sign of a PE thus far."

"PE? Isn't that something you do to keep fit?" Scully shoots me a look

that any school marm would be proud of.

"Not in this case, Mr. Mulder. We're talking about a Pulmonary

Embolism. I explained to you earlier about the danger: what would

happen if a piece of the clot breaks off and gets into your circulatory

system. So far, so good. No sign of that happening."

I nod my head in understanding.

"We might want to do some more tests on that muscle if we don't see any

improvement in the next few days, but I think it will get better with

some rest and attention on our part. A nurse will be along in a few

minutes to move you to your room. You should be more comfortable then.

Right, any questions?"

"Yeah. When can I get out of here?"

End of part 9.

A Simple complication 10/12

By Sally Bahnsen

ER Atlantic City Medical Center

1.30am

"Mulder, it was a stupid question and you know it." Frustration and

exhaustion drip from her words.

"Why? All I wanted to know is how long I'm in for this time?" I tell

her reasonably.

"You make it sound like a jail sentence."

"Your point?"

She sighs, folds her arms across her chest and draws a long breath,

releasing it slowly through her mouth.

"Relax, Scully. I know already. But what about our case? The kid?

Thompson? The bones..."

"Mulder, stop. Let's get one thing clear. We are not on a case. Right

now, I'm not particularly concerned about the 'kid'." Her tone

softens. "I'm concerned about you. Your leg needs to be immobilized.

You cannot get up and you most certainly cannot go galivanting all over

the country side in search of this so-called kid. You need rest."

I push the hospital-issue blanket over to the side of the gurney.

"Mulder, what the hell do think you are doing?"

"Is it hot in here?" I ask, feeling beads of sweat break out on my

upper lip.

Agent Scully suddenly morphs into Doctor Scully. She lays a hand across

my brow.

"No, it's not hot in here, but you are. Mulder, you're burning up."

"They probably have the heat turned up." But as soon as the words are

out, the crappy feeling that usually accompanies a fever starts to

spread through my body. I sink back a little lower into my pillow and

close my eyes.

"I'm going to get someone," Scully says decisively.

"Why? Someone will be here soon, anyway. They're moving me to greener

pastures, remember?"

"Agent Scully?" Speak of the devil. I hitch an eye open just enough so

I can see who the voice belongs to. A nurse and a rather

spindly-looking orderly enter the treatment room. I immediately lose

interest in them and decide to let Scully handle the travel

arrangements. Between the headache building behind my eyes, and the

quiet, insistent throb in my leg, I am really not in the mood for

socializing and making new acquaintances. So, I feign sleep.

"Yes, I'm Agent Scully."

"Agent Scully, my name's Suzanne, I'll be accompanying Mr Mulder to the

step-down unit. This is Craig. He'll help us get him settled into a

bed. Is he sleeping?"

I assume she's referring to me.

"I don't think so, he's just resting. But I think his fever is a little

worse. Would you mind checking his temperature?"

A slight rustle of clothing, then a thermometer is placed in my ear. I

continue to lay with my eyes shut. Less chance of having to deal with

annoying questions.

The thing in my ear beeps and is removed.

"Hmmm." Medical-speak for just about everything. "101.7."

I sneak a look at the nurse. She picks up my chart and scribbles

something down. "He is a little warmer. I wouldn't worry too much.

You can expect a fever with the phlebitis. I've noted it on his chart

and will mention it to the nursing staff in the step-down unit. We can

get him started on some Tylenol if it doesn't settle down."

"He's been vomiting and hasn't been able to keep anything down," Scully

informs her.

"Well, he doesn't have to take it orally, you know. A suppository will

do the job."

Now she has my attention.

"Um...Scully?" I throw her a look that leaves no room for

misinterpretation. There is no way anyone is going to be administering

medication to me in that form.

"Ah, you're awake, Mr Mulder."

"Yes, and I'm fine, so you can forget about the Tylenol."

"Mulder!"

"Scully," I grind out and give her a stronger version of my earlier

look. "I'm *fine*."

"Let's see how things go," the nurse says. "We'll monitor your

temperature and if it get's any higher, we'll decide what course of

action to take then. Now, I believe there is a room waiting for you

upstairs."

Step-down Unit

Atlantic City Medical Center.

1.56am

"Okay, on three. One. Two. Three."

Ah, shit. I know they are trying to be gentle, but even so, the

movement is enough to send a jolt of agony coursing through my thigh.

By the time Craig, and his new assistant, Tim-the-human-mountain, have

me off the gurney and onto a real bed, my jaw is aching from clenching

my teeth together and a new pool of sweat has gathered around the neck

of my hospital gown. And the Grand Canyon of all headaches is pounding

away behind my eyes.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully is at my side, studying my face very

closely.

"Mmm. Think so." Then again...maybe not. Suddenly the room takes on a

very surreal atmosphere. I wonder vaguely why the bed is tilting

dangerously to the left. And why the walls don't quite meet the roof

in a straight line. And I wonder why my stomach feels like it is about

to climb into my mouth. I close my eyes and for a few seconds my head

seems to spin even faster.

"Mulder?" Scully rests her hand on my arm.

Her voice reverberates around the room. Or is it just in my head?

Can't be sure.

"MUU...UU...ELL...DE...ERRR." A hollow sound rings through my ears.

I swallow against the rising nausea. It doesn't help.

"HE...E...'S VOMMM...IT...ING." I feel myself being tipped to the

side. The distorted voice still echoes in my head. I can't make out

words. My stomach heaves relentlessly and my head pounds until I think

it might explode.

Some incomprehensible amount of time passes in which I am vaguely aware

of all kinds of activity happening around me. People come and go.

Voices fade in and out. Words hang in the air.

"4mg Compazine, IV push."

"Fever. 102.1."

"Spiked suddenly."

"Vitals?"

My body feels as boneless as a rag doll. A BP cuff is wrapped around my

arm. The pressure builds, squeezing, hurting. The room is hot. I try

to push the blanket off, but there's nothing there. Only my hospital

gown. Clinging, pressing on me. Suffocating. Scratching my skin. A

figure looms over me. Dark, can't see its face. It squeezes my thigh.

Tighter, tighter. Gnarled, bony fingers digging into my flesh.

"NOOO! Stop. Get off me!" Its eyes are red. Glowing. An ugly

cavernous mouth opens. Wider. Wider. Teeth, sharp and menacing.

Dripping with saliva. It bends over me and sinks its fangs deep into my

leg. "AARHH! STOP IT! NO!" Hot, burning pain escalates along my

thigh, encompassing my calf, my toes. "Hurts..."

"...ulder!"

The creature lets go. Laughing. Mocking me. Then it changes shape. A

child. Scared. Dirty.

"...Mulder."

It floats above me. I see its eyes. Blue. Lips moving. Trying to

tell me something.

"Mulder! It's me."

"Scully?"

"Yes. I'm here, Mulder."

I reach up and touch her face. It is her. She takes my hand and clasps

it in her own.

"Scully. I'm...hot." Her face shimmers in and out of focus.

"Shhh. Mulder, it's okay. We're trying to get you cooled down. You're

going to be fine."

I can't see her properly. The light hurts my eyes.

A cloth, cold and wet is draped across my brow. Mmm, feels good.

"Mulder? We need to take your gown off, can you lift up a bit."

I try, but as soon as I raise my head the room spins and the pounding

increases.

"Can't."

Doesn't matter. Gentle hands grip my shoulders, support my head,

lifting me. The gown disappears.

Cold. I start shivering.

A sheet is draped across my waist. Not enough. Still cold.

"Free...ee...eezing." It takes three attempts to get the word through

my chattering teeth.

A cool sponge glides across my chest. "No." I hit at it. "Cold."

"I know, Mulder. Sshhh, it's okay."

My body shakes harder in response. My teeth rattle together, making the

pain in my head even worse.

"Scully. Please...need a...blanket."

"No blanket, partner. I'm sorry. Just the sheet for now."

I feel her hand caress my cheek. Her fingers icy against my skin.

Hurts. I try and turn my head away, but don't have the energy.

"So...c...c...cold." I force my eyes open and for a second her face

comes into focus. Her worried, tired face. She fades out when a

particularly violent bout of shivering grips me.

Hot again.

The damp sponge makes another sweep across my chest. Arms too. Cool.

Nice. I swipe at the cloth on my forehead. Too warm. It disappears

briefly, then someone wipes my face.

"Scully?"

"I'm here."

"Glad...you're here...Scully."

"Me too. Try and get some rest, you'll feel better if you do." The

sponge traces over my shoulders.

"Mmm. Stay...with me?"

"Always, Mulder. Just relax." She picks up my hand and washes it with

the sponge. Over my palm, between my fingers.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Her breath tickles my ear. Her lips graze my

cheek.

"Tired."

"I know. Try and sleep."

"'kay, Scully. Think...I will."

Step-down unit

Sunday 6th June

6.36am

No beeping from a heart monitor. No hissing from a respirator. No

Scully sitting in the chair beside my bed. Hmmm, no Scully? No nurse

standing over me, either. No way am I going to be lying in a dry bed if

I don't empty my bladder in the next sixty seconds.

I give the room a quick once over. Yep, definitely here on my own. And

there, some fifteen feet from my bed is the door leading to the

bathroom. All right!

Cautiously I attempt to push myself into a sitting position. Within

seconds, the effort of moving forces a cold sweat to break out under my

arms and across my forehead.

Eventually, the thought occurs to me that despite all my effort, I don't

seem to be going anywhere. Then I realise the fault is with my right

leg. For some reason it appears to be anchored to the bed, preventing

me from achieving anything more than a half recline. I lower myself

back onto the mattress, then lift the sheet to see what the problem

is. There are pads, or something, covering my leg from thigh to calf.

Leads run from under the sheet, snake along the side of the bed then

disappear behind the bedside cabinet. More leads trail from my chest,

connecting with some sort of transistor-radio-type contraption attached

to a belt around my waist. A homing device maybe? Does Scully trust me

so little in hospitals that she feels the need to track me? It doesn't

seem to be contributing to the anchor-like affect on my body so I let it

stay. However, the more urgent my bathroom needs become, the more

reasonable the idea of removing the pads from my leg seems to be.

So I do. Then I sit up, and am pleasantly surprised to find that

movement is relatively pain-free.

Until I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my toes on the

floor. A slow ache starts to throb in my calf, a dull accompaniment to

the more insistent pounding in my thigh. A fierce argument breaks out

between my bladder and my leg. Bathroom! Back to bed! Bathroom!

Bed! Bath...

"Mulder!"

"Mr Mulder!"

Dammit. Too slow.

"Mulder what the hell are you doing?" Scully stalks to the side of my

bed. The nurse follows in her wake, busily fussing over the fallen

leads and carelessly discarded heat pads.

"Scully, I gotta go."

"I thought we'd been through all this, Mulder. You are..."

"*Scully*. I have to go *now." I nod in the general direction of the

bathroom.

A look of understanding crosses her face.

"Mulder, lie down. I'll get you a urinal."

"Uh-uh, no way. I'm not peeing in a bottle when there's a perfectly

good bathroom just fifteen feet from here."

"I'm afraid you are, Mr Mulder." The nurse decides its time to assert

her authority.

"Scully, tell her. Tell her I don't pee in bottles or tubes or any

other damn thing except a toilet when I'm conscious. Go on, tell her."

I insist.

"Mr Mulder, I don't think you..."

"No, it's okay, Peg." Oh, so she's on first name terms with the

hospital staff already. "I'm sure if Mulder says he's okay to walk to

the bathroom then he's probably right."

I nod smugly at Nurse Peg. "You better believe it."

"Agent Scully..."

Scully lays a reassuring hand on Peg's arm, effectively halting any

further protests. Then she turns to me.

"Go ahead, Mulder." Scully holds out an arm, inviting me to make my own

way to the bathroom, but at the same time steps closer to the bed,

hovering.

It's about time she realised I know what's best for me.

I edge a little closer to the side of the bed so my feet are firmly

planted on the floor. With my left hand I take hold of the IV pole for

support, and quietly tell myself that my leg is not hurting and that I

can do this on my own.

I nod towards Scully, just to let her know she made the right decision.

Then I push myself upright. Then I feel all the blood drain from my

head and pool somewhere south of my knees. Then I feel my thigh and

calf up the ante on who will win the battle for pain supremacy. And

then I feel myself slowly sink towards the floor, the IV pole

disappearing into obscurity, along with my balance, equilibrium and for

the umpteenth dozen time: my pride and dignity. But one thought of

reason does manage to break through the buzzing in my ears and the fog

clouding my vision: I will not pee myself in front to these women!

When my head stops spinning and I feel confident enough to open my eyes

again, I realise that I have somehow managed to get back into bed.

Judging by the look of annoyance on Scully's face, the equal amounts of

stunned horror and concern on Peg's, and good ol' Tim-the

'WCW-wannabe-turned-orderly'- glowering in the background, I can pretty

safely assume that I didn't make it back in bed under my own steam.

"Scully...What happened?" I croak out.

"You nearly fell." A clear-cut, no-nonsense, reeking with

'I-told-you-so', statement. But I still gotta pee. And Scully knows

it. She holds out her hand to Peg, who passes my smug partner the

dreaded plastic bottle. It could be worse, I suppose. I should be

grateful that I *do* need to pee and didn't empty my bladder on my way

to the floor.

Never let it be said that Fox Mulder doesn't know when he's beaten. I

stretch out my hand and take the damned bottle off Scully, then cast a

disparaging glare around the room.

"If you don't mind, I think this is something I really can manage on my

own. Without an audience." The on-lookers pass an amused smirk amongst

themselves then leave the room to let me pee in peace.

I have to hand it to Scully, though. It was a very clever tactic: using

me against myself to teach me a lesson about getting out of bed. I did

think-albeit only a fleeting observation-that she was giving in too

easily.

A few minutes later Peg and Scully return. The hated urinal is removed

and if body language is any indication, it looks like I'm in for another

lecture on 'how not to piss off the hospital staff', versus my personal

favourite: 'how to be the patient from hell'. Something tells me I

need to do some pretty fancy fast-talking to regain some brownie points

with Scully. And a little sweet-talking the nurse wouldn't hurt either.

I open my mouth to apologize, but before I have a chance to utter a

word, a thermometer is placed under my tongue.

Peg steps up to bat first.

"Mr Mulder, my name is Peg..." Like I hadn't figured that out

already?..."And I'll be your primary nurse for your stay in the

step-down unit. Now, let's get one thing straight: patients do not get

out of bed on their own and collapse to the floor on my shift. Is that

understood?" I glance between Peg and Scully. Both sets of eyes are

firmly locked on me and seem to be waiting for an answer in the

affirmative. I nod my head slowly.

"Good. This here..." She holds up the call button..."is for you to use

when you need help. There is no monitor in your room but this ..." She

points to the electronic gadget attached to the belt on my waist..." is

a telemetry monitor. It sends signals to another monitor in our

office. It makes it easier for you to move around the bed and later,

and I do mean *later*, to move around the room. Are we clear on that?"

More expectant looks from Peg and Scully. I nod again, the thermometer

still trapped beneath my tongue.

"You, Mr Mulder, are on complete bed rest. No illicit or clandestine

visits to the bathroom." She glares at me, daring me to question her

authority. With the thermometer trapped under my tongue, it's a little

difficult to question anything. When I don't look like arguing, her

demenour softens a little and she finally removes the thermometer from

my mouth.

The result seems to please her. She smiles up at me. "Well, this is

much better. Almost back to normal."

"Can I see?" Ah, the ever diligent Dr Scully. Just making sure. She

snags the thermometer from Peg and checks my temperature for herself.

She smiles at me too. All I had to do was drop my temperature to get

these two back on side. How easy is that?

"If things keep improving like this, we could have you on solid food by

tonight. How's the nausea?" Peg asks as she jots down the latest

reading in my chart.

"Actually, I feel fine. I could probably go a Big Mac for lunch." This

gets the predictable 'Mulder don't be an idiot' response from Scully. A

roll of the eyes and click of disgust from her tongue. Peg just smiles

at me again. "Let's try walking before we run, Mr Mulder. If all goes

well, you can have some broth and crackers at lunchtime."

As far as I'm concerned, there's not much difference between broth and

crackers and bread and water. I knew this was more like a jail

sentence.

"So, the nausea is under control and you seem to have your appetite

back. How's the pain?" Peg the inquisitor is still grilling me.

"It aches a little." Okay, so it aches a lot, in fact it's kicking up a

real stink. I guess my attempt at walking didn't do me any favours.

But there's no need to burst their bubble with unnecessary details.

"Which is one of the reasons you are confined to bed." Peg slips the

blanket back so my leg is exposed and proceeds to wrap it in damp terry

cloth. "I'm reapplying the K-Pads to your calf and thigh. This will

help ease the pain; you should find it very soothing."

"It looks like a wet towel." I tell her. She gives me a pretty good

impression of one of Scully's favourite looks.

"It is a wet towel, Mr Mulder. The K-Pad is placed over the top.

Simply, the K-Pad is a heat pad that circulates warm water. We'll keep

it on 24 hours a day with intermittent checks to give the skin

underneath a rest. We don't want your leg turning into a prune, now, do

we?"

No we don't.

"If you manage to keep your lunch down, you'll be able to switch from

morphine to Tylenol with codeine. I'll be relying on you to let me know

when you need something for pain relief." Peg wraps one of the pads

around my calf and the other across my thigh as she speaks.

"And don't try to be all macho about this, Mulder. *Tell* someone if

you're hurting."

Scully just can't resist the urge to add her two cents.

"Yes mom." I reply, wondering if now would be too soon to request

something and still maintain any amount of dignity.

"Okay." Peg resumes her run-down on my treatment. "To help dissipate

the clot in your leg you are on anti-coagulants. This means you will

need to be careful during your daily routine. If you get cut your blood

will take longer than normal to clot. Which is why I don't want to see

you getting out of bed unaided. If you fall badly you could start

bleeding internally. Oh, and be careful brushing your teeth, and

shaving - I suggest you try using an electric shaver."

"I'll bring you the one out of your overnight bag, Mulder," Scully

offers helpfully.

"Fine." I feel a pout forming on my lips.

"Over the next 24 hours, we'll be checking your prothrombin, or clotting

time, every 4 hours. This will help us determine whether you are

receiving the right dose of heparin. Basically this means you'll get a

little stick in..."

"Would you like to check now?" I ask, offering her my middle finger in

the customary 'bird' position?

"Mulder!" Who needs a conscience when you have Scully?

Peg just smiles at me. "Venipuncture, not finger stick." Peg rests her

hand in the crook of my elbow to illustrate her point before

continuing. "You know, Mr Mulder, I've been a nurse for 20 years. In

that time I've seen all types come through this hospital. For all your

bravado, I don't believe you're nearly as tough as you make out you

are. My job here is to ensure you get well and to keep you as

comfortable as possible while you do. So how about you drop the 'tough

guy' act; because I'm not buying it." She glances quickly at Scully and

winks. My loyal and faithful partner, I notice, is hiding a

not-so-subtle smirk behind the fingers of her left hand.

"Now, is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Yeah, when can I get something to eat?"

"I'll speak to the kitchen staff and see if I can get some soup and

crackers organised for you. How does that sound?"

"I guess it will have to do."

"Good. If all goes well and the doctor okays it, we'll have you

disconnected from most of the equipment by lunchtime. The IV will stay

so we can administer the heparin. Now, remember, you need to tell me

when you want something for pain relief." She smiles at me and lays a

hand on my good leg. "We're not so bad in here, Mr Mulder. And with a

little cooperation on your part, you should be out of here in a few

days."

A few days. The kid doesn't have a few days. Hell, the kid may not

even have a few hours. But for now I keep those thoughts to myself.

Instead I decide to at least pretend to be well behaved and

co-operative.

"Thanks, Peg. I promise to be a good little patient."

She smiles. Scully scowls. I might be fooling Peg, but Scully knows me

too well.

End of part 10

A Simple Complication 11/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Disclaimer in part one

Step-down unit

Atlantic City Medical Center

11:00 a.m.

"Sweat pants, clean shorts, cell phone, laptop...Scully? Why aren't you

writing?"

"This is a joke, right? No. No, it's not. I know what the problem

is. Your head injury is obviously more severe than we first thought.

I'll ask your doctor to include an MRI and CAT scan as soon..."

"Scully, what are you talking about?"

"I can only assume that you are suffering the after effects of a head

trauma. Or, you are completely delusional. Maybe both. If you think I

am going to help you set up office in a hospital room, then you can just

..."

"Scully," I say reasonably, "I only want the bare essentials. I need

underwear. Have you any idea how short these hospital gowns are?"

"Oh, I think I might have the general idea, Mulder."

A smirk slides across her face.

"Good, then you understand the necessity of bringing me clean shorts.

And while you're at it, just throw in the laptop, my cell phone...Aww

come on, Scully, don't look at me like that. What am I supposed to do

while I'm in here?"

"Well...you could try resting."

"I *will* be resting. Tapping a few computer keys and punching in some

phone numbers is hardly strenuous. It's my leg that's damaged, not my

mind."

"That's debatable."

"I heard that. Scully, if we don't do something to help the kid,

Thompson and his cronies are going to kill it. It will only be a matter

of time."

"Mu...uw...ulder." My name creeps out around a yawn. And it's then

that I realise how exhausted she must be.

"Scully, go back to the motel room and get some sleep."

"I'm fine. I will go and take a shower though, and bring back some

things for you. Electric shaver, toothbrush, clean underwear."

"Sweatpants?"

"You won't be needing sweatpants. Unless maybe you were thinking of

trying to escape?"

"Scully!"

"You might have the hospital staff bluffed, but I know all your tricks,

and I won't be party to helping you on your path to self-destruction.

No sweats, no computer and no cell phone. Rest. Mulder. Get better."

"Would you at least call Dr Diamond and run my theory by him. Tell him

about the bones." She gives me a doubtful look. "Please?"

Scully huffs out a long sigh. "Mulder, I don't even know if he is still

with the Smithsonian."

"You're a trained investigator. Track him down."

"And then what?"

"Tell him about the bones. Tell him what's going on up here. We can't

just sit by and let Thompson hunt this kid down."

Scully covers her face with both hands. A muffled reply leaks out

between her fingers. "Okay. I'll call him."

I reach up and pull her hands from her face, taking one of them in mine.

"We've got to at least try," I say, trying to convince her.

She nods her head and squeezes my hand before letting go.

"You get some rest, Mulder. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

An overwhelming sense of loneliness fills the room as soon as Scully

pulls the door shut behind her. I hate it when she leaves.

A few minutes later the door swings open again and my heart leaps with

anticipation. She must have forgotten something.

But it's not her. Instead, a man enters, a doctor, I presume if the

white coat covering his clothes is anything to go by.

"Ah, Mr Mulder, you're awake." With powers of observation like that,

maybe this guy should consider a career with the FBI.

"No, I'm not. It's just a figment of your imagination." I say,

unreasonably.

He gives me a brief look of confusion before rearranging his features

into a bland expression.

"I'm Richard Gillespie. I'll be your doctor while you are in this

hospital. How are you feeling?" He strolls over to the end of the bed

and picks up my chart, flicking idly through the pages.

"I'm good."

"Pain?" He runs a critical eye over me.

In the butt.

"No," I lie.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." I feel my irritation climb a notch.

"That's quite a recovery."

"I'm a fast healer. I've had plenty of practice."

"Good. I'd like a to take a look for myself. Is that okay with you?"

I swallow hard and squirm restlessly beneath the bed covers. I've never

known a doctor yet who just looks.

"Fine," I say, thinking how much I'm beginning to dislike this guy.

"Mr Mulder, are you able to move around the bed okay, without too much

pain?" He places the stethoscope against my chest as he speaks.

"I tried to earlier and nearly caused a national incident."

"Yes, I heard about that, and if I remember correctly, you tried to move

*out* of the bed." He gives me a look of amused disdain, before

changing the subject. "I'd like to take a look at your leg, please."

"Why not? Everyone else has."

"Lie back." He reaches up by my head and presses the call button, then

pulls the blanket back to the end of the bed.

Peg pokes her head around the door. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Would you give me a hand, please?"

As Peg moves all the way in, Doctor Gillespie begins unwrapping the heat

pads and terry cloth from my calf and thigh, not bothering to be careful

about how he pulls and jostles my leg as he goes. I remind myself

never to criticise Scully's bedside manner again. Compared to this guy,

she's a saint.

He starts his examination by palpating around my lower abdomen. I should

have guessed- even his hands are cold. The next port of call is my

groin. Pressing lightly with his finger tips, he pauses and checks his

watch. "Pulse is nice and strong now. A little fast maybe. You're not

worried about anything are you, Mr Mulder?"

"Should I be?"

He smiles at me. Actually, he bares his teeth, but I err on the side of

optimism and call it a smile.

Slowly, his hand moves along my leg, pressing here, pushing there,

easing closer and closer to... "AAAH! FFFFssshit."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, I always cuss and swear when someone plays with my leg. It's a

real ice-breaker on a date." My fingers clench tightly around the bed

sheet.

"Sorry." His tone would indicate he's anything but.

He continues his examination. I continue to envisage a slow and

torturous death for the good doctor.

"Uh-huh." He pulls out a tape measure and wraps it around my thigh.

"Swelling is down." He moves towards my calf, pressing and pushing

before doing his thing with the tape measure again. "Good." He

scribbles something on my chart.

He moves to the bottom of the bed and takes my foot in both his hands,

then without warning gently pushes my toes up towards my knee.

"AH! Shit." I hiss between my teeth, as sudden pain shoots through my

calf.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the pain just now?"

"About a six," I manage, but my voice betrays me as the words tumble out

in a hoarse whisper.

"I think we'll mark that down as an eight, Peg. I suspect Mr Mulder's

not being entirely honest with us." This time he offers me what I think

is a genuine smile.

"Peg, we'll set Mr Mulder free of the IV drip now and just leave in a

hep lock." He turns his attention back to me. "Everything seems to be

coming along as expected. The PT tests indicate the heparin dose is

right and I believe you're in good enough shape to move to a regular

room tomorrow. No nausea?"

"No."

"Good. And you handled the soup and crackers all right?" He turns to

Peg without waiting for an answer. "Soft diet tonight, regular

tomorrow. Seems you are true to your word, Mr Mulder. A text book

recovery."

"Could you put that in writing? My boss might appreciate the fact that

there's *something* I can do by the book."

He ignores my remark.

"If you keep improving like this, we'll lose the heparin lock tomorrow

too and start you on coumadin. Now, if there's nothing else, I'll be on

my way." I watch his retreating form, willing the door to slam on his

fingers or something. But it doesn't.

"Nice guy," I mumble under my breath.

"What he lacks in bedside manner he makes up for in expertise. He's one

of the best, Mr Mulder. You're lucky." Peg starts to dismantle the IV.

Luck? Yeah, I've certainly had my fair share of that this weekend.

"How's the pain level now?"

"I'll survive."

"I'm going to reapply the K-Pads, that should help some." She pats my

arm gently. "Try and get some sleep."

"Yeah, maybe."

With nothing else to occupy my time, I reluctantly agree that sleep

might be the best option.

"Um...if my partner, Agent Scully comes back, can you tell her to wake

me? I need to speak with her."

"I'll be sure to let her know."

Step down Unit

4:00 p.m.

"Scully?"

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Mm. Fine. I think. What time is it?" I scrub at my eyes with my

right hand.

"Just after 4. You've had quite a sleep."

"Yeah. Kind of snuck up on me." I try and work through the fog

surrounding my thoughts.

"I brought you some things. What is it with you and loony toons,

Mulder?" Scully reaches down by her feet and pulls something out of a

bag. A pair of boxers. Yosemite Sam stares angrily back at me.

"Not me. My mom."

She arches an eyebrow.

"It's a long story," I say wearily.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I heave a gusty sigh.

"I was visiting my mother one weekend a couple of years back. She

insisted on doing my laundry-I guess she had a maternal moment or

something. Anyway, I had a pair of 'Elmer Fudd' boxers. I can't even

remember where I got them from. Somehow she latched onto the idea that

I was a 'Loony Toon' fan, and from then on she sent me loony toon boxers

for my birthday and Christmas. Happy now?"

"Very. I called Skinner."

"What?" I carefully push myself to a sitting position.

"Mulder, he was going to wonder why we didn't turn up for work

tomorrow. I had no choice."

"What did he say?"

She gnaws briefly on her bottom lip, without giving me an answer.

"Scully? What did he say?"

"He's coming up here."

"He's...Why?"

"It seems that someone else informed him of our whereabouts before I

did."

"Scully, will you stop beating around the bush and just come out and

tell me what the hell is going on."

"Thompson called him. He made a complaint about us interfering -

uninvited - in a police investigation. One we had no jurisdiction

over."

"Bastard. He's just trying to stall us, Scully. Any way he can. How

did Skinner react?"

"Pissed."

I nod slowly. "Too bad I'm already in the hospital. I'm sure he'd like

to have had a shot at putting me here himself."

"Mulder. He was pissed at Thompson. Not you."

I pull my head up sharply. "He said that?"

"Not in so many words. But his tone certainly indicated he was on our

side. From the way he spoke, I think Skinner might have had dealings

with Thompson before."

"Then why is he coming to Atlantic City?"

Scully shrugs. "He didn't exactly say. I assume he wants to

investigate Thompson's allegations for himself, and to check on the

well-being of his injured agent." She smiles at me.

"Great. Fantastic. This is just what I need. Skinner hovering around,

reeling me in."

"Reeling you in? Mulder, you are not being reeled in. You are already

cleaned, gutted and halfway to the frying pan. And have been for the

past 24 hours. I don't know why you think Skinner is going to be a

problem. Your investigation is over. Unofficial or otherwise. Get

used to the smell of antiseptic and the squeak of gurney wheels because

this is your home for the next few days."

"Did you talk to Dr Diamond?"

"I did."

"And?"

"And, after an hour and a half of playing telephone tag I finally

managed to track him down in Orlando, Florida. He's on vacation."

"Did he have an opinion as to what's going on up here? What did he say

about the bones?"

"He was very interested in what I told him. He doesn't believe it is a

Neanderthal, but he likes your theory that we might be looking for the

dead woman's child."

"Did he offer to help us?"

"No. But..."

"Scully, I know I promised I wouldn't give you any trouble, but I've got

to get out of here." I push the bedcovers back and start pulling the

leads from my chest.

"Mulder..."

"If Diamond won't help, then..."

"Mulder..."

"Then I've got to find someone who will. Maybe the park ranger. What

was his name? If I..."

"MULDER."

"If I can get a hold of the file from the motel, I can find his name

listed there. Then..."

"MULDER! STOP!" Scully's hand grips my wrist before I get a chance to

pull what's left of the IV out. She opens her mouth to speak to me

just as two nurses burst through the door pushing a crash cart.

They stop a few feet inside the room. Peg follows behind.

"Mr Mulder! What are you doing?" She nods to the nurses with the

cart. "I think you can put that away. The patient looks remarkably

healthy for a man with no vital signs."

I look down at the leads dangling from the monitor around my waist.

"I'm leaving," I inform her.

"Dana?" Peg looks to Scully for support.

"No, he's not. He only thinks he is. Mulder, stay in that bed."

"Scully, time is running out. We have to find the kid. I'm fine. The

doctor said so. I'm making a text book recovery. Now, where are my

clothes?"

"And you'll have a text book complication and a text book funeral to

follow it, if you don't get back in the bed."

"Sorry, Scully. No can do." I pull the K-Pads from my thigh and calf

and unwrap the terry cloth.

"Can I have someone take this IV out or am I going to have to do it

myself?"

"I'll get someone," Peg says, swivelling on her heel to leave.

"Thank you." I turn to Scully. "At least somebody around here is

listening to me." I scoop up my shorts from the edge of the bed, and

release the monitor from around my waist. With the main IV gone and

only the heparin lock to deal with, I am able to move around freely. I

swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up.

"Ah. Dammit." I forgot about keeping the weight off my leg. Holding

on to the bed rail for support, and keeping my right leg off the ground,

I rummage around in the overnight bag Scully brought me, in the hope

that she relented and threw in some sweat pants.

"What are you trying to prove, Mulder?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm going to rescue the kid."

"Fox Mulder, Super Hero extraodinaire," she says dejectedly.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Did you bring my sweats?"

Pushing aside the t-shirts, underwear and shaving bag, I dig a little

deeper through my things. Yes! Way to go Scully. With an air of

triumph, I pull my sweat pants from the bag.

"Mulder. Get back in bed." Her voice barely carries across the few

short feet between us, they are so quietly spoken. But, it is more

effective than if she'd yelled at the top of her lungs through a

megaphone. I lift my head and look at her.

"I can't do that, Scully. You know I can't."

"I know you believe you're the only one who can save the child, Mulder,

but that's not true. Wait. Wait for Skinner. He's on our side, he'll

listen. I called him just before I left the hospital this morning. He

should be here soon."

"There's been enough time wasted. I have to go." Leaning against the

bed, I pull my shorts and sweat pants on, and stare down at my bare

feet. Dammit. I need shoes.

"They're in the car." Scully's words slip out on a wave of resignation.

"Thanks." I pull the hospital gown over my head and replace it with my

t-shirt.

"You're taking a big risk, Mulder."

"When I know the child is safe, I'll come back." She looks at me

sceptically. "Scully, I don't have a deathwish, I really don't. But I

can't sit here idly and do nothing."

She nods, but doesn't look any more impressed.

"Can you take this thing out for me?" I point to the tube attached to

my arm.

"...I don't know, Agent Scully's with him." Pegs voice penetrates the

room as she swings the door open.

Dr Gillespie follows her in.

"About time. Did Peg explain I need you take the IV out?" I say to

Gillespie.

"I'm sorry, Mr Mulder, I can't do that."

"What...? Well, I say you can."

"What seems to be the problem?" He edges towards me.

"I'm checking myself out of here."

"Mr Mulder, you are not ready to..."

"Hey! Either you take the IV out for me, or I'll do it myself." I

start tearing at the tape holding it in place.

"Mulder..."

"Mr Mulder! You are making a serious error of judgement here. I

suggest you get back into bed...

"I don't give a damn what you suggest. I've tried being reasonable, and

it's getting me nowhere. Scully, tell these people I mean what I say."

"Mulder, listen to them..."

"No, Scully. I'm done listening." The tape rips free and I pull out

the thin plastic tube.

Dammit! Blood spills down my hand, dripping off my fingers and

splattering the floor.

"Mulder! What do you think you're doing?"

I snatch the discarded hospital gown and hold it over the puncture

mark. Gillespie takes another step towards me.

"Mr Mulder, sit down. You're in no shape to go anywhere. You need

continued medication. Too much activity could break off a piece of the

clot and cause a pulmonary embolism. I'm sure you realise the

medication you are on is an anti- coagulant." He nods towards my hand.

"You need to control the bleeding."

"If you want to help, get me a Band-aid. I'll take care of it myself."

A faint buzzing hums through my ears. I shake my head to clear it and

take one faltering step forward. Pain shoots through my leg when I am

forced to put weight on it to keep my balance.

"Look at you. You can barely stand. And you're still in pain. It

would be unsafe for me to release you from the hospital in this

condition."

"Doesn't matter." The words come out thickly, slurred around my tongue.

Gillespie moves closer, reaching out a hand to steady me. I sense

Scully moving in from behind.

"No. Don't. Don't try and stop me."

Gillespie's face turns dark. "Look, Mr Mulder, if you leave the

hospital you risk a complication. *My* license is on the line here. If

you don't care about your own health, think about my situation."

"Don't worry, I'll sign the damn papers that will get you off the hook."

"Well, then, go ahead Mr Mulder. There are a lot sicker patients here I

could be spending my time with, instead of babying you around." He

crosses his arms over his chest, but doesn't clear my path.

"Mulder, please. You're not thinking clearly," Scully pleads with me.

"No, Scully, you're wrong." I attempt another step towards the door.

Gillespie blocks my way. The buzzing noise in my ears gets louder and

my head starts to reel. I feel the hospital gown slip from my fingers

as blood runs freely down my left hand.

I push past Gillespie, who makes a half-hearted effort to grab my arm,

but I shake him off and stumble towards the exit.

"AGENT MULDER!"

A figure looms in the doorway. I squint, trying to identify him.

"Agent Mulder, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Skinner.

"I'm getting out of here." My voice rasps through my lips.

"Agent Scully? What's he talking about?"

"Sir, Agent Mulder believes the child we spoke of earlier is in imminent

danger of being killed. He believes Captain Thompson intends to hunt

this child down in much the same manner as he did its mother."

"And you?"

"I believe Agent Mulder is acting with the child's best interests in

mind. However, he is sick and shouldn't be out of bed. Sir...Agent

Mulder is risking his own life."

I feel my breath start to hitch in my throat. The ache in my leg

getting worse the longer I'm forced to stand here. Skinner is still

blocking the exit. Gillespie has placed himself to the right of me,

with Peg at his side. Her face is strained as she watches the scene

before her. Scully has positioned herself on my left, just behind me.

I make a quick calculation and decide my best form of attack is

surprise. I give my head a quick shake, clearing away the fog gathering

across my vision, then, without warning, make a run for it. Shouldering

Gillespie to the side, I stumble awkwardly in Skinner's direction,

barrelling into his chest as I try to squeeze between him and the door

jamb.

"What the hell..." Skinner is surprised but not defeated. He wraps his

arms around my waist and pulls me back.

"Let go, sir. You don't know what you're doing."

"Agent Mulder, cut it out!"

I lift my right arm and attempt to elbow him in the ribs. But he grabs

me and twists me around so my back is up against his chest with his arm

wrapped tight around me. I struggle hard against his iron grip, the

adrenaline rush spurring me on, giving me added strength. I bend over

suddenly, forcing my butt into his groin and the breath whooshes from

his lungs. Still he hangs on. "Agent Mulder." My name is squeezed out

in a tense plea. I don't care. Instead, I try to twist free, but all

this achieves is to knock us both off balance. Skinner holds on firmly

as we topple to the side. My right foot slips out from under me and I

hit the ground on one knee. The added momentum of Skinner's weight

drives my leg hard into the ground and the force reverberates through my

body as my thigh explodes in pain.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHH FUCK!"

Except for my own harsh breathing and the renewed buzzing in my ears, a

strange silence seems to hang in the room for a few short seconds before

a surge of activity erupts around me. Voices all talking at once,

melding into an unintelligent thrum. My own whimpering and moaning only

adds to the melee of confusion around me.

"Mulder!" Scully by my side.

My chest constricts in a painful spasm. Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

"Scu...lly."

"Dr Gillespie. He's having trouble breathing."

"Hurts."

"Where, Mulder? Where are you hurting"

"Leg. Chest. Tight."

My eyes roll around in my head. I can't seem to focus on anything.

"Let's get him back in the bed." I think it's Gillespie speaking.

Strong hands wrap around my upper arms and lift me off the floor. My

head lolls listlessly from side to side.

"Peg! Let's get his vitals, and I want a new IV started."

The cuff around my arm. Another needle shoved in my hand.

"Where's the pain, Mr Mulder? Can you show me?"

I grab at the center of my chest.

"Does the pain move anywhere? Down your arm, up into your jaw?"

"No...stays...the same. Can't...breathe."

"BP's 130 over 85. Heart rate 110. He's diaphoretic." I recognise

Peg's voice.

"Are you nauseous?" Gillespie again.

"No...no."

"Can someone get a dressing on that puncture wound? Are you dizzy, Mr

Mulder."

"Yeah...some."

"Okay, I want an EKG STAT, portable chest, and blood gasses."

Oh, god, another needle, digging into my arm. I hiss as this new pain

mingles with the others. Someone clamps a dressing over the site,

pushing down hard.

"I want those blood gas results, ASAP. Let's get him on an oxygen mask

rebreathing 4 liters. This looks more like a panic attack than a

pulmonary embolus," Gillespie mumbles, more to himself than anyone in

particular. "Give him 3mg MS IV push. Mr Mulder, I want you to try and

slow your breathing down. Agent Scully, can you help quiet him."

The plastic mask is placed over my face. I try and concentrate on the

flow of oxygen, waiting for the inevitable relief it brings. A tingling

sensation burns along my arm.

Scully's face hovers in front of me.

"Mulder, look at me. Slow down your breathing. Slow, slow, that's it,

let the medication work. You're okay, we're all here helping you.

Good, good, Mulder, that's it, nice and slow."

The pain eventually subsides and breathing is easier.

As the flurry dies down, I glance around at the anxious faces staring at

me. Scully, a deep furrow between her eyebrows, Skinner, his jaw

clenched so tight I wonder why I can't hear his teeth cracking. Peg

just wears the same strained look she'd had earlier. Gillespie is the

only one whose face is expressionless.

Someone attaches EKG leads to my arms and legs.

"How's the pain now, Mr Mulder?"

"Mm. Better," I mumble under the mask.

"Good."

Another nurse enters the room and hands Gillespie a piece of paper. His

eyes give it a quick scan then he lifts his head and looks at me.

"Blood gas is normal. It doesn't appear to be an embolism or a heart

attack. But, just to make sure, we'll get a picture of your chest.

Have you ever had an anxiety attack before, Mr Mulder?"

"Once or twice."

"Well, I'd say you probably just had another one."

I close my eyes and sink back into the pillows. "No shit."

"I've got to find the kid," I say quietly.

Skinner clears his throat. "Doctor? Is he going to be all right."

"If Mr Mulder follows some simple advice and stays put, then yes, I

don't see why he shouldn't make a full recovery, and be out of here in a

few days, just like we originally planned."

More equipment arrives. Skinner steps outside while another barrage of

tests are done. Scully hovers protectively at my bedside, stroking my

face and speaking comforting, reasuring words to me. This is my luck.

Not the bad things that have happened this weekend, not the brilliance

of Dr Gillespie, but Scully. She is the greatest stroke of luck that

has ever happened to me in all of my miserable life. Even through my

drugged haze, it is the one thing that is crystal clear to me. I wrap

my fingers around her hand and hold it tighter.

"You okay?" She whispers into my ear.

"Yeah, Scully, I'm fine."

"Well, Mr Mulder, it looks like all your tests came back clean. No sign

of pulmonary embolism, no damage to your heart. You were lucky. It

could have been much worse," Gillespie says accusingly.

"I know." I say quietly.

"Peg, let's replace the mask with a nasal cannula, I think he's resting

comfortably now." Gillespie turns to me again. "You stay put, Mr

Mulder. I don't want to hear anymore nonsense about you giving my staff

a hard time and trying to leave." He strips off his gloves and tosses

them into a nearby trash can before turning and walking out of the room.

The mask disappears, and the cannula is put in place. Peg and a couple

of other nurses clear the equipment out of my room. Scully and I are

left alone.

"Mulder..."

"I know, Scully. It was a stupid thing to do. I..."

A quick rap on the door interrupts me. Skinner walks in, his face

bearing a look of grave concern.

"Agent Mulder. Agent Scully."

"Sir?"

"I've just received some news regarding the child." Even through

drug-laden eyes, Skinner's discomfort is still obvious to me, and a

rumble of dread rolls through my stomach.

"I had a couple of agents from the field office go and check out

Thompson's allegations. Apparently, while they were there, word came in

that a perpetrator had been located out in the state forest."

"Is it the child?"

"I believe it was an adolescent child, female, approximately 15 or 16

years old, but that will be confirmed after the tests..."

"Tests?" I ask suspiciously.

"An autopsy will need to be performed..."

"Autopsy? That goddamned son of a bitch killed her!"

"It seems she attacked an officer and fled. I believe there was a

warning shot before another officer opened fire on her."

"Oh God." I close my eyes momentarily, taking it all in. Knowing that

I'd come so close to finding her and now it was too late.

"Mulder...I'm so sorry." Scully puts her hand on my shoulder.

My eyes snap open and I try to sit up straighter, but my arms are

completely drained of strength. "Thompson's got away with it again.

Cold-blooded murder under the guise of taking out a criminal. I won't

sit by quietly and let that happen, I can't. There's got to be a way to

make him accountable." Anger surges through me, making my stomach churn

and my head pound.

Skinner catches my attention. "He will be made accountable, Mulder.

I'm initiating an investigation into the whole affair. Scully told me

how Thompson treated you. His manhandling of a federal agent is enough

to get started with. I'll be putting in an official complaint, one they

can't ignore. And with your testimony and the evidence you found, I'm

sure there'll be enough to have him brought to justice."

"A fat lot of good that's going to do now." I drape my arm across my

head, the incessant thud behind my eyes just about driving me to tears.

"It's not ideal, Agent Mulder, but it's a start. Agent Scully, if

you've got things under control here, I'm going to drive over to the

field office and start proceedings."

"Thank you, Sir."

"And Agent Mulder, stay put. No more heroics while you're in the

hospital. I'll call in later before I head back to D.C." And with that

he takes his leave.

"Are you okay, Mulder?"

"No, Scully, I'm not okay."

"This isn't your fault."

"Maybe not directly, but I knew what would happen and I was powerless to

stop it." I scrub at my face, trying to push the headache away.

"That's right. You were powerless to stop it. You can't always prevent

bad things from happening. You're not responsible for all the evil in

the world. Sometimes you just have to do your best and hope it will

turn out right, but that's not an automatic guarantee that it will."

"I hear what you're saying, Scully. And maybe in a few days it will

make sense, but now? Now I just want to wrap my hands around Thompson's

throat and let him have a taste of what it feels like to be on the

receiving end. God, my head hurts."

"Let me get you something to help you sleep."

I cover my face with my free arm, and nod gently. "Yeah. I think I'd

like that."

She leans across me and presses the call button. A nurse pops her head

through the open door.

"Could you ask the doctor for something to help Agent Mulder sleep?"

"Sure, I'll be right back."

Scully slips her hand around mine as we wait for the nurse to return.

"Here you go, Mr Mulder." I hitch an eye open. It's Peg.

"What is it?" Scully just can't quit being a doctor.

"Diphenhydramine." She turns to me, "most commmonly known as benedryl.

It'll help you get a good night's sleep."

I nod my head, not really caring.

"Thanks Peg," Scully says. "Oh, could you get me a basin of warm water

and a wash cloth? I'd like to clean some of this blood off him. Oh,

and a new gown."

"I can send a nurse in to do that."

"No, thanks. I'd like to do it myself." Scully pours me a glass of

water as Peg hands me the pill.

I watch Peg's reaction. She just smiles. "Not a problem, Dana. I

understand."

Some kind of silent communication passes between Scully and Peg. I'm

dammed if I know what it is, though.

End of part 11.

A Simple Complication 12/12

By Sally Bahnsen

Disclaimer in part one

Warning- implied sexual situation

Six Weeks Later

Mulder's Apartment

6:00 p.m.

"Mulder, I can't believe you did this, I really can't."

"Are you telling me you find this harder to believe than genetic

engineering? Than the prospect of alien colonisation? Than...than

David Copperfield being able to make the Statue of Liberty disappear?"

"No, Mulder, I'm not. I'm telling you that I am having a very hard time

believing that you could be so stupid!" She grunts quietly as she

forces the front door open with her hip.

"Well, here I am, Scully. Living proof." I say light-heartedly as I

reach inside the door and flick the light switch on.

"One. One day back on field agent status and here we go again." She

eases me on to the couch, squatting down to remove my shoe and sock.

"Not quite. We're at my apartment, not the hospital, and it's just a

little sprain. Actually, it barely even qualifies as a sprain." I say

confidently as I examine my foot.

"Mulder! Look at your ankle. There's swelling and bruising from front

to back. With your luck it's probably a compound fracture."

"That's not bruising. It's the dye from my sock. I twisted my ankle in

a hole full of water."

We both stare at the wet, soggy, blue sock lying on the floor next to my

shoe.

The news has only a marginal affect on Scully's mood and she forges

ahead anyway, unconvinced that this is only a minor injury.

"I'll get some ice. Elevate your foot and don't move from that couch!"

"You know, Scully, sometimes you come across as very bossy. Why is

that?"

"Because, Mulder, when you are sick or injured, you seem to do

everything within your power to hinder the recovery, rather than promote

it."

"I do not."

"Stop that. I'm not having this argument. Now, lift your foot up."

"Hey! Hey, Scully. I caught the guy." I call to her as she disappears

into the kitchen.

"Congratulations. Your display of boyish agility was very impressive,

especially when you brought him down. Too bad he wasn't the one we were

looking for." From the kitchen her reply is muffled, but not enough to

hide the sarcasm in her voice.

I decide not to tell her that my 'display of boyish agility' was

actually me stumbling after I twisted my ankle. But I do feel the need

to remind her why I gave chase. "He could have been the right guy. He

matched the description perfectly," I reply defensively.

"You're lucky no one was hurt, Mulder." She calls back.

Well, go figure. What am I, chopped liver?

She returns with an ice pack wrapped in a cloth. "Move over."

I scoot up against the back of the couch and make room for Scully at the

end near my foot. She spends a few seconds examining my ankle before

placing the icepack over it.

"Ah! OW."

"I thought you said it wasn't bad?" She says accusingly.

"I said it probably wasn't a sprain. I never said it didn't hurt."

Scully graces me with a self-satisfied glare, the expression spewing out

accusations of 'I told you so.'

She must realise how unreasonable she's being because her tone softens,

"Would you like something for the pain?"

"No, thanks. I've had enough medication these last few weeks to last me

a life time."

"Hmm, okay then, but let me know if the pain gets worse and you need

something." She wraps a bandage over the icepack to hold it in place,

then slips two cushions under my foot.

"Scully? Do you think there might have been siblings?"

"Excuse me?"

"The girl in New Jersey. Do you think she might have had a brother or a

sister?"

"Well, that came out of left field," she looks at me strangely before

her expression turns thoughtful. "It's possible there were others, I

suppose, but unlikely."

"I hope not." I say quietly. "I hate the thought of another child

roaming around in the forest alone."

"Mulder, I think if there'd been others then they would have been

discovered by now. Something happened to cause the girl to attack the

two hikers and reveal her whereabouts. We'll probably never know why or

what it was." She pauses, watching me intently. "You know Skinner had

the area thoroughly searched, and there was no evidence to suggest the

existence of another human being living where the girl was found."

"Yeah, I know. I don't believe she killed them, Scully. The more I

think about it, the more likely it seems that the hikers fell, like the

ranger said. I think the girl found the bodies and used them for food."

"Maybe, but without autopsies on either of the dead hikers, I guess

we'll never know for sure."

"At least Thompson's being made to answer for his actions this time.

Skinner really came through for us." I shake my head increduously.

"Sometimes I can't figure him out. I thought he'd have my ass for

sure."

"Technically, you didn't do anything wrong. For all of Thompson's

noise, you didn't impede his investigation. Pissing someone off is not

a punishable crime." Scully smiles at me reasurringly.

I snort quietly. "Just as well, or I'd be serving a life sentence."

"Are you hungry, Mulder?" She looks at me expectantly. "I'm starving.

How about I order us in a pizza? One with everything."

"Now you're talking, Scully." I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "What's

the catch?"

"No catch. I'm just feeling adventurous." She says, cryptically.

"Ooh, bring it on, Agent Scully." I pull my feet up and make a move to

stand.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"To change out of my wet pants." I hold up my foot, showing her the

soaked hem at the bottom of my pants' leg.

"Here let me help you." She stands and holds out her hand to me.

"You really want to help me change out of my pants?" I ask innocently.

"To stand up, Mulder," she says with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh." She grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. "AH!" Pain shoots

through my ankle when I inadvertently put weight on it and I stumble

awkwardly. Scully slips my arm over her shoulder for support, but as we

go to move, I step on the wet shoe lying on the floor, which in turn

sets off a disastrous chain of events. Completely losing my balance, I

topple backwards, landing spreadeagled on the couch, dragging Scully

down on top of me."

"OOMPH. AH!"

"Mulder! Are you okay?"

"Scul...lee. Move...your...elbow." She glances down between our bodies

and realises her elbow has landed in the worst possible place it could

have...for a guy.

"Oh, my God. Mulder, I'm sorry." Her elbow moves from between my legs

and I curl over onto my side, waiting for my stomach to drop from my

throat.

"Are you all, right?"

"Just...peachy," I squeeze out in between gasping for breath.

Slowly and carefully, I ease myself back into a sitting position,

hunching protectively over my groin.

"Here, lie back a bit." Scully picks up the cushions previously used to

elevate my foot and stuffs them behind my head. "Let me see."

My eyes snap open as her hand reaches for the top button of my suit

pants.

"Scully, I know you like to play doctor, but there are limits. And this

is one of them," I grind out painfully.

"Mulder, you might have ruptured something. I need to examine you."

"No, you need to give me a minute to recover. I'll be okay. Trust me,

I've had worse, you barely made contact." I paste a smile on my face

and hope it isn't coming out as a grimace. Then I try to straighten up

a bit as the shock and pain subside.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Scully asks, guilt and concern written all

over her face.

"Scully, it's a guy thing. Even the slightest threat of anything

hostile coming in contact with the family jewels sets off an automatic

pain response. Really, I'll be fine." I readjust myself then suck in a

deep breath letting it out slowly, effectively chasing away the last

remnants of pain from my near-miss encounter with her elbow.

Scully's hand lingers on my top button. She has no idea how tempting it

is for me to just give in and let her continue her examination. My

resolve almost crumbles when the back of her hand brushes gently against

my crotch. Suddenly, all traces of pain are forgotten. A much more

primal sensation rises in its place. Losing all sense of self-control,

I groan quietly in appreciation of this non-hostile contact.

Scully looks at me enquiringly. A smouldering light dances in her

eyes. Maybe she does have some idea of what she's doing to me.

I swallow. Hard. Then attempt to clear my throat and say something,

but my voice seems to have gotten lost and the only thing I can focus on

is her hand hovering near my lap, and the shapely curve of her mouth. A

soft pink curve: lips slightly parted, revealing perfect white teeth.

She murmurs my name. And my appetite for pizza is boldly usurped by an

overwhelming desire to taste only one thing: Scully's lips on mine.

Without a single thought for the consequences, and without any conscious

act of movement, I plant my lips firmly on hers. Kissing her, tasting

her...until reason and common sense clip me under the ear and I pull

away suddenly.

"Scully! I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't..."

She places her hand against my cheek. "Shhh. Don't apologise. God,

Mulder don't apologise for kissing me." Her face brightens with an

enigmatic smile, one I don't recognise, yet one that reveals something

new and promising.

She moves closer to me, leaning her hand on my thigh, the warmth

pressing through the fabric of my pants and making its way to my groin.

Her lips brush gently against mine. Soft, warm, chaste. However, chaste

is the last thing on my mind and I nudge at her mouth with my tongue,

trying to control my urgency, but failing miserably. She lets me in,

and I realise then that her urgency is equal to my own as she slides her

hand behind my neck and holds me tighter.

"Scully." I sigh breathlessly against her cheek, my lips still tingling

from the kiss.

Her hand inches along my thigh. "Mulder, I think I better check for

swelling, you never know what damage might have been done earlier," she

says with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, trust me, Scully. There's swelling."

"I hope so, I'd hate to think I caused you any permanant injury.

Especially there-where I have a vested interest."

"No damage. Permanent or otherwise. I guarantee, everything is in

perfect working order."

She kisses me again: deeper, longer, trailing her hand to my fly and

tugging at the zipper. I groan into her mouth and gently pull away. I

need to know exactly where we stand before reaching the point of no

return. "Are...Are you sure about this, Scully?"

"About what, Mulder?"

"This. Us. Everything." I gesture ineffectually with my hands.

"After seven long years, you're asking me if I'm sure?" She looks at me

incredulously.

"Yes. I'm asking because it's taken seven long years. I need to know

that you want this, that you're sure about it."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." She holds my gaze,

and I see the same intensity there she usually reserves for arguing in

favour of a scientific explanation on one of our cases. Blue eyes

imploring me to understand and accept the strength of her conviction.

I close my eyes and fight the need to pinch myself, afraid of the

possibility that this is just another dream, tormenting me, teasing me.

But when I open my them again, she's still there. Scully is still at my

side, staring at me with open honesty and sincerity. Waiting for my

response.

"I just want to be sure you know what you're getting yourself into.

With work, the people who are against us...it...it could all become very

complicated," I warn her.

"After all I've seen in the past seven years, and all I've been through,

all *we've* been through..." She pauses, gathering her thoughts.

"Mulder, this is a simple complication. And I want it in my life, I

want you in my life. Not just during office hours and not only as my

work partner. The risks we've taken together, I'd do it all again, all

of it, if by taking those risks it meant I could be here with you now.

Like this."

"I want this too, Scully, but not at the risk of losing you. I couldn't

stand it if anything else happened to you because of me, because of our

relationship. I've caused you to lose so much, sacrifice more than I

ever had the right to ask of you."

"'Risk is what separates the good part of life from the tedium.'" She

looks at me thoughtfully, before continuing. "Charlie said that to me

when I couldn't decide between a career in medicine or the FBI. Mom and

Charlie were behind me when I was recruited into the bureau, but Dad and

Bill were sure I was throwing away everything that I'd worked so hard

for. I took the risk, Mulder, I went with my heart and despite what you

think, I don't regret one single minute of my time with the FBI. Or with

you."

I laugh quietly.

"What, Mulder?" She asks softly.

"An English professor in Oxford once quoted that line to me. He told me

to never let others stand in the way of reaching my full potential just

because they were afraid of taking a risk. I've never been afraid of

the risks, Scully, not when I'm the only one who will be affected by

them. But I am afraid for you, what has happened to you, and what will

happen to you in the future, especially if we take this next step."

Scully takes both my hands in hers, rubbing her thumbs back and forwards

across my knuckles as she speaks.

"Mulder, *you* are the good part of my life. *You* are what makes it

worthwhile for me to get up in the morning. The only thing we risk

here, is losing the opportunity to move forward. If we let our enemies

prevent us from taking this step for fear of how they'll use it against

us, then they've won. As surely as if they'd put a gun to our heads and

pulled the trigger." She pauses, the idle doodling with her thumb stops

and she grips my hands tightly. "I want this. I have for a very long

time." She releases my hands and reaches behind my head pulling me

towards her until our foreheads rest lightly against each other.

"I love you, Mulder. That's the truth. The real, honest to God truth,

and at no time have I considered my love misplaced or risky."

Right now, there are no words in the English language that are able to

sum up how I feel. Emotion wells up in me until it has no place to go

but outwards. And that's what it does. My eyes tear up and my body

shudders against Scully's as she pulls me into a tighter embrace. I

hold on to her for all I'm worth and pray that the fallout from my

emotions won't crush her.

"Scully," I mumble into her neck. "God, Scully. I love you too. I

love you so much."

I lose track of any real passage of time, content to rest in her arms.

Letting her words sink in, and revelling in the relief of knowing that

she shares the same feelings that I've had bottled up for so long.

Eventually, I pull away, kissing her lightly on the lips.

"Come on, Scully. Help me up."

"Where are we going?"

"To the bedroom. I want to make things really complicated."

The end.

If you've made it this far...then thank you. I hope you liked it.


End file.
